


Wedding Present

by raven_aorla



Series: Time Out of Mind [19]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brothers, Canon Queer Character, Childhood Memories, Different Values, Drama with fluff, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Reunions, Wedding, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-10-24 23:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10751955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: Jim has somewhat kept in touch with Alexander since the foster care system split them up. Attending Alexander's wedding and directly encountering Alexander's very different lifestyle, views, and found family is a whole 'nother deal.[No previous AU reading needed, but with spoilers for earlier stories.]





	1. Wilbur and Orville

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome all! I don't know how long this is going to be, but it was so much fun writing a story from James Laurens' perspective that I thought I'd have a crack at one from James Hamilton Junior's.
> 
> Timeline:
> 
> \- "Sharps Hour" was in September 2015. Alexander was in Vernon Psychiatric Crisis Center for an unusually bad manic episode, and had a mutual crush with Nurse Eliza, which both of them were sensible enough not to pursue at the time. Instead, Alexander concentrated on cultivating a queerplatonic relationship with John and a platonic relationship with Pierre. All three were already close to Lafayette, because Lafayette is that kind of person. 
> 
> \- January 1, 2016: Alexander and Eliza's first kiss, in a chance meeting. Also John and Ned's first meeting and kiss, after Alexander sets them up on a date.
> 
> \- October 26 or 27, 2016: Phillip accidentally conceived during a visit while Alexander was in his last semester getting his Master's at Columbia. Eliza refuses to get married before they are ready to marry for its own sake, not out of obligation. 
> 
> \- December 2016: Ned and Alexander learn that they are genuine half-brothers, not best friends who happen to look similar. 
> 
> \- January 2017: Henriette du Motier de Lafayette born in France, her parents recently having returned there. John and Ned begin living together. Alexander gets a job as _a_ secretary _in_ the Treasury. 
> 
> \- Unlike the real one, this version of Philip was born in July, to make the plot fit. Obviously the real one wasn't born in 2017, either. Alexander's destiny as an active and devoted dad kicks into high gear.
> 
> \- March 2018: This.

“JIM! JIM! JIIIIIIMMMY JIM JIM!”

The moment he was in non-yelling earshot, James Hamilton, Jr. teased, “My waving was a way to tell you that I could see and hear you.”

Alexander Hamilton grinned. “Oops.” Then he stood awkwardly.

Jim felt awkward as well. They hadn’t hugged each other since Alexander’s first foster family took him away. He made the first move, and Alexander promptly latched on and clinged and clinged.

“It’s really you,” Alexander mumbled into Jim’s shoulder. 

“It really is.”

***

In the car, Alexander said, “So, the Schuyler sisters and brothers have whisked her away for something. Angelica and Peggy live close by, but Brad, P.J, Catherine, and their respective nuclear families are from far away. One set of Schuylers are staying with us. I’ll find out tonight, I guess. I admit that my usual skills at strategy and organization have fallen apart when it comes to what the out-of-town guests are doing. I’ve been working extra to compensate for the days off for my own wedding and honey-fortnight and I have had almost no headspace for anything else except walking upright and not totally neglecting my little Flintstone. Seriously, I think he’ll start mastering tools and catchphrases any second now.”

Jim let out a laugh at Alexander’s description of his son. “I thought Eliza had two sisters and three brothers?”

“Five months ago, we started calling Camden ‘Catherine’ when she notified us,” Alexander said delicately. He glanced at Jim with tentative concern. “Is that going to be weird for you?”

In his head, yes, but that’s not what Alexander was going for. “It’s not my business and I’m not going to be rude.”

The length of Alexander’s sigh of relief almost hurt Jim’s feelings, but Jim had to keep in mind that Alexander had a lot of experience with people using religion as an excuse to be unkind to him. It wasn’t personal. Though there was apparently another layer to it, since Alexander followed that up with, “I’m really glad to hear that, because it’ll be cool to be able to introduce you to Chev during the reception…”

Jim was about to ask, but his phone went off and he picked up and checked in with his wife about his safe arrival. After he hung up, he asked a more immediate question, “So I take it I’m not staying with you.”

“Not sleeping over at our house, no. Sorry that there was a reshuffle. Would you be okay with using Ned’s spare room? It’s actually closer to the venue than my place, as a bonus. I promise that for a long, leisurely lunch had home tomorrow, it’ll be just you and me and Eliza and Flipflop.” Alexander had agreed to naming his son Philip after his father-in-law on the condition that he be sanctioned to use a ton of silly nicknames on rotation. 

“Yeah, sure.” Jim noticed a deer ambling on the side of the highway, by the trees, thinking it was being more stealthy than it was. “I’ve been wanting to get to know your other brother. Which is weird, by the way. Not a bad weird, but weird.”

Alexander nodded. “Now I’m side-eyeing all my high school friends I have even the slightest resemblance towards, I can tell you.”

“Haha.” It had hurt in a weird way, to know that if all the adults had been honest, Alexander should have had a different last name. It smarted to know that one of the few fragile links between them didn’t apply in the way he thought. Jim had mostly kept his original last name because he thought being James Hamilton, Jr. would be silly if you swapped out the Hamilton part, but keeping a connection to Alexander had been a factor as well.

“And my best man slash queerplatonic partner slash soon half-brother-in-law lives there too, and he insisted on taking over a huge chunk of the organizing, so he’ll be able to inform you of all the details of the reception. Eliza’s sister Angelica, the Maid of Honor, is making sure the core wedding ceremony goes smoothly.”

“Your best man is John Laurens, right?” The guy Alexander had a very close relationship with, a relationship that Jim found mildly baffling despite multiple explanations. 

It was actually simpler for him to understand that for a period of time, Alexander had simultaneously dated Eliza and a guy, and that neither of them minded, and that the guy would be coming to the wedding with his wife and that everyone was fine with all this. Apparently. Just as well, he didn’t want unpleasantness, but this was far from the little Alejo Jim had known. 

He needed to get the measure of both John Laurens and Eduardo “Ned” Stevens, without accidentally making it seem like he had a problem with them personally for them being engaged to each other. His mission president told him once that criticizing fundamentally good people for not following doctrines that were not part of their own belief system only caused resentment or worse, and showed dangerous pride besides.

In the meantime, Jim and Alexander talked of both big things and small. They’d either talked on the phone or video chatted every mother’s day since Alexander’s ultimate foster father helped him find Jim’s contact information. They’d had other, less regular, communication otherwise, and laid-back Facebook friendship since Facebook became widespread. This meant they didn’t have to recap. 

It was getting dark when Alexander got them to the apartment building. Jim hadn’t been on the East Coast since his adoptive parents moved the household to Salt Lake City, and he wondered if the time difference would make him stay awake late tonight. 

Alexander didn’t open the car right away, though. “There’s something for you in the glove compartment.”

It was an old action figure, a cheap knockoff of a Ninja Turtle. Karate Tortoise or something like that, which was kind of appropriate since the Ninja Turtles were technically tortoises. What with having feet and not flippers. “I’ve seen this.”

Alexander said quietly, “When we knew we were going to be split up, remember that you gave him to me? You called him Carvaggio, which wasn’t what the box said but sounded cool, and you said it wasn’t a present. You said you were lending it to me, and made me promise to give it back when I saw you again.”

Jim turned the made-precious plastic over and over in his hands. “Mama and then our cousin, then you, how small and sick and just too much, you know, too sharp and bright for any crowd you were in? I never thought you’d live past twenty, to be honest.”

“And where we came from, some got half as many. Grew up buck wild.” Alexander stared at the action figure, then at Jim’s face. Then he pressed the button to unlock all the car doors. “Time for you to meet my other bros, yeah?”

***

Then Jim was in the presence of his maternal half-brother Alexander, Alexander’s paternal half-brother Ned, and Ned’s fiance and therefore Alexander’s future half-brother-in-law John. And as a bonus, the former exchange student Alexander had been a _host_ brother to - Jim had seen pictures but was blanking on the name, his brain kept offering up several - paused in his channel surfing to wave from the couch. He was sprawled across it like he owned the place. Actual co-owner Ned was setting the table and gave Jim a wave. 

“If I say ‘oh brother’, is someone going to smack me?” Jim asked.

“Couching a bad pun in a rhetorical question like that is cheating,” said John, smiling. He offered a hand. “Welcome to the expanded family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- There is evidence that the reason James Hamilton Junior and Alexander were split up is that Thomas Stevens took Alexander in, but not James. Ron Chernow writes that if the rumor is true, this might give an additional explanation why Hamilton Senior abandoned the boys and their mother. A commenter brought up some compelling evidence to the contrary; check in the comments if interested.
> 
> \- I'm an ex-Mormon who has to navigate uncomfortable, though kind, territory with certain relatives, some of whom I'm out to and some of whom I'm not. Writing a convert Latter-Day Saint doing the same thing, on the other end of the spectrum, is interesting and somewhat cathartic for me. I hope you enjoy reading it. It won't dive heavily into Jim's beliefs, just how they make him react to what's going on around him. 
> 
> \- Every chapter title will be famous brothers. Did you get why I chose these two for this chapter?


	2. Romulus and Remus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories of moving in with their cousin Peter.
> 
> ETA: Now also exists as a one-shot called "Lone Wolf".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for discussion of: loss of parent and bullying
> 
> Trigger warning for actual: food insecurity, undiagnosed Major Depression, suicide
> 
> If by any chance any of you are from the neighborhood of Knox Hill, Ward 8, Washington, D.C., I hope I don't cause any offense. I researched neighborhoods in which this scenario would be plausible, and it is viewed through the perspective of already-unhappy children.

It had been frightening to move to Knox Hill, far away from anything they’d ever known. His little brother was barely walking and talking again when Mama's funeral happened, and their cousin Peter Lytton had introduced himself and sadly, gently taken them with him. None of Dad’s relatives came for them, let alone Dad. The boy most people called Alex but Mama and Jim called Alejo, from back when Jim couldn’t say “x” sounds, was sure this was a misunderstanding or accident. Dad would find out and come back and get them. He was sure.

Jim let him be sure, while Jim was very unsure. The kid needed things to hold onto. All little Alexander Hamilton really had was his hope, a tolerance for pain, a couple of relatives, and his top-notch brain. In a short period of time, Alejo had gone through near-death to horrible grief to culture shock to being bullied to an inch of his life for being small and teacher’s pet and intense and weird, ADD, hyper, freak show, and why do you speak English with a Scottish accent? (Jim didn’t get bullied much. He was more normal, and quiet, good at imitating the Boricua accent more expected of him, and very good at baseball.)

Jim told him that telling them their original accent was because they’d mostly practiced English with Dad wouldn’t help. He wished he could stick up for his brother in person, but Jim had been placed in Junior High. So Alejo solved the accent problem by watching Arthur and The Magic School Bus and copying how the kids talked. “I want to sound like PBS kids. I don’t want to sound like I’m from Scotland, or Puerto Rico, or stupid dumb Knox Hill, Ward 8, District of STUPID Columbia.” Jim didn’t mind sounding more and more like Peter, who was half-Latino and half-African American and only spoke English.

Knox Hill was an underserved neighborhood in D.C's least successful ward. It didn’t have as bad crime as some other places in D.C but it didn’t look like a pleasant place to them. To make matters worse, they arrived in the fall and it was much colder and grimier here, even though there were a few bright trees in the nearby park. At their old home, plants and flowers grew all year round unless you stopped them. Peter said that it was like that here, too, when you got out of the city, different plants and maybe slower, but still. They’d get out of the city when he had time. And gas money. And his car wasn’t making strange noises. And when it was a day off that Peter didn’t spend lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, except to use the toilet and make sure the boys were accounted for. Those four things never happened at the same time.

When it was almost payday but not quite, sometimes Peter would pretend to have already eaten, so that the boys would get their fill that evening. Jim had confronted him about this, and Peter said that if anyone decided he wasn’t feeding them enough, they’d get taken away. He’d be fine. “Growing children need to eat more regularly. Grownups can skip sometimes, no worse for wear.”

Jim had narrowed his eyes but played along, not wanting Peter to get in trouble. Alejo was smart, but he didn’t know about how things were for grownups. In his mind, “Uncle” Peter’s fasting was only alarming if it might mean he was sick, in which case Alejo would flip out. Another day, one of Peter’s less numb-robot days, Jim had asked why they couldn’t get financial assistance or food stamps like the friends Jim had made at school. Peter put his face in his hands and apologized again, and again, but when he was younger he’d done drugs, he said, and spent a few months in county jail.

“Now if I ask for money to help you, they all think it might be for drugs, and if I ask for stamps, they say I make too much money to qualify, no matter if I disagree. I’m sorry. I’m a mess. You’d be better off with someone else, but I’m trying, I really am, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Jim.”

Jim was very grateful that Alejo had popped in and asked to go to the park, because he’d had no idea how to get Peter out of that scary loop. It turned out the chance to easily do something nice for his cousins was enough. He even smiled in the sunlight as he tossed the grubby but useable tennis ball.

The next day, Jim stayed back during lunchtime for a few minutes and asked his favorite teacher if a family that didn’t qualify for welfare or stamps might still qualify for the reduced price lunch, and if so, what had to be done. She nodded, serious but kind, and gave good advice.

With the money saved on lunches, dinners got better. In the sense of there being enough of them. Not a lot of fresh things, because the stores that sold fresh things were far away and the buses were complicated and scary and Peter’s car just kept breaking down, and their fridge (which came with the apartment) was small and sometimes broke. Sometimes Peter got really worried about this and took both of them on a long bus ride and walked with them the rest of the way, and they bought what made sense to buy, and all three helped carry it home. They couldn’t do that all the time.

Then Peter started eating less even when there was enough for all three of them, and he took the maximum number of days off from work, and he didn’t laugh at jokes at all when he used to do it sometimes. Not real laughs. One time when Alejo came up to him with big eyes and a tone of excitement at maybe having solved a mystery, and asked, “Did you have a secret girlfriend who broke up with you?” Peter let out a high pitched sort-of-laugh.

Seeing he’d alarmed both boys, Peter took a deep breath and reached out to fondly tidy Alejo’s hair. “I’m not big on dating, buddy. I’m more a lone wolf type. Lone wolf with a pair of cubs.”

“Wouldn’t that make you a lady wolf?” Alejo pointed out. “Male wolves in a pack might help out, but I don’t think lone male wolves are great with cubs.”

“You’re quite the zoologist, aren’t you?” It sounded like it was meant to be fun teasing, but it was flat. It sounded flat. His smile was pasted on. “It doesn’t matter. Mama wolf to my two brave cubs, then.”

Then one weekend, Peter seemed to feel much better. That Friday as the boys got home from school, he met them at the door, meaning he’d come home from work early. Jim hoped he wouldn’t get in trouble at work for that.

“Would you guys be okay with getting all your homework done tonight? Maybe we could go into the nice part of the city tomorrow. You got here in October and school’s almost out for the summer and you’ve never been to the National Mall, or, or the Smithsonian museums -”

Alejo raised his hand. “My class went to the Air and Space Museum on a field trip.”

Peter smiled. Actually smiled, it crinkling his eyes and everything. “That’s okay. That one’s always crowded, and there are others to choose from. I got the money together to fix my car and fill up the tank, and we’ll park it at the nearest Metro station and take the subway there. We can get up early. Hit a bunch of spots. And on Sunday maybe we could go see a movie?”

“You’ve only taken us to a movie once,” Alejo said, suspicious. He’d been getting less and less gullible over the months. “For Christmas. Also, you said it would take a few hundred bucks to fix your car.”

Peter shrugged. “I won a lottery scratch card. Not a big prize, but enough for fixing the car and special treat.”

“You never buy scratch cards.”

“I...uh...um...I felt like...trying something new. Okay? No need to get on my case about it. C’mon, get your homework done.”

They were a wonderful two days. Peter had shown periods of cheerfulness, or at least okayness, in the past, but this was the first time in at least six weeks, and it was more cheerful than even then. The Smithsonian museums - they skipped the zoo because Jim had been the zoo when the baseball team celebrated a major winning streak - were free, so no worries there. They ate the sandwiches they brought while walking from building to building instead of going to any of the expensive museum cafeterias. Peter unexpectedly bought the boys an Italian Ice each when he saw them gazing longingly at the cart.

They went to the movie on Sunday and enjoyed it very much, though Alejo got upset when he stepped on a sticky patchy of spilled soda and it made the sole of his shoe sticky. Jim calmed him down and when they got home he sat Alejo down with a juice box and cleaned the shoe.

He noticed Peter watching them with a weird look on his face. Sad and happy and loving all at once. “What?”

“You take such good care of Alex. Always do that, okay?”

“I don’t need to be taken care of,” Alejo grumbled. “I’ll be fine.”

“Sometimes people aren’t fine, and need someone to take care of them. Sometimes they don’t have…they don’t have someone. To do that. But you do, Alex, and you can take care of Jim right back.”

“You take care of us too,” Jim pointed out.

“Yes.” Peter cracked his knuckles. “Maybe let’s go sit on the fire escape after dark with the binoculars and look for the meteor shower we’re supposed to be having? I won’t keep you up too late, of course, but hey, maybe we’ll never get a chance to see something like that again. Might as well try.”

“You’re being weird,” Alejo said. “Nice weird, but weird.”

Peter stared into space for a moment before looking at them again. “I, uh, was trying to make a big, personal, adult-type private decision, and I was really worried about it, and now I’ve made up my mind and I feel better about having made a decision. Okay? Who wants mac and cheese with a side of carrot sticks before the carrots start looking horror movie?”

In the morning, Peter hugged them both, which was unusual but not completely new, before making sure they had joined the group of other kids from their housing project who’d walk to the school bus stop with a chaperone. The elementary school and junior high school used different sets of buses, but the same stops. What was less usual was Peter whispering, “Alexander, James, I love you so much, and that is the realest thing I have felt for a long time. Goodbye. You’ll do great.”

On the way, Jim realized he’d forgotten a pair of scissors he was going to return to a friend, who hadn’t made fun of him for not having any at home to use for their project. He decided he’d miss the bus if he went back. He could return the scissors tomorrow. Besides, he was pretty sure she had a crush on him, and so he could do no wrong in her eyes.

It was a normal day at school. In later life, Jim couldn’t remember for the life of him any aspect of it at all, except that he’d had baseball practice. Therefore, Alejo had gone home earlier. They had a few neighbors he was able to ask for help if he needed it.

Jim entered the apartment and flicked the light on. When Alejo was in their room, he turned off the other lights to save electricity. It was very quiet in here.

“Alejo? Hello?” Maybe Alejo had gotten a neighbor to take him to the library with her own children who often went for Story Time. Maybe he’d left a note in a super obscure place to inform his family. He’d done it before, to everyone’s brief panic then lengthy annoyance.

Their room was empty. Jim then noticed that Peter’s room, further down the hallway, had Peter’s light , the door left open and the light spilling across the floor. Unlike the rest of the apartment, Peter’s lighting came from an old chandelier that looked totally out of place. A clunky, solid thing, with way too many curly bits. Maybe someone got it at a yard sale a long time ago. The light spilled into the hallway like a knife. Jim would always remember that the light had looked like a knife.

He heard a whimper, and ran in to see if Alejo was hurt.

And he was, in a matter of speaking. He was curled in a ball in the closest corner to the door, breathing shallowly and covering his eyes. A scrap of paper must have fallen out of his hand before he pressed it against his face, so small, so thin, shaking. “His note...it told me not to look.”

Jim, like most human beings ever, had to look.

Peter was dangling from the ceiling, rope around his neck. His body looked rigid, so Jim guessed that he’d been dead for hours. Had he done it the moment after he’d sent them off?

If Jim had run back for the scissors and caught him at it, could he have stopped him?

Alejo pointed at the note with one finger, without otherwise uncovering his eyes. “‘Don’t go into my room. Call the landlord. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.’ Then I turned it over and it said that he’s got some savings bonds or something that we can have and use when they’re ready to cash in, but I don’t want those! I want him!

Jim couldn’t move at first, but then his brother started crying again. It was the dried-out crying where you’ve cried so much that when you still need to cry you can’t do it properly anymore. He couldn’t hug Alejo in this position, really, so he sort of draped himself over him. “I’m going to call 911.”

Alejo couldn't keep his languages straight for the rest of the conversation. “I can’t move. Don’t leave me. There’s something new inside. A voice saying...”

“I’m going to come back in a sec. If you can’t get up because you’re too upset, just wait a sec okay.”

“Alex, you gotta fend for yourself. He said that. Someday. Not this soon. They'll split us up now that he's gone, Jim, I know it.”

Jim went shush nicely again and squeezed him gently and tried to get up. “No they won't. Give me a minute, I swear -”

“Don’tleavemedon’tleavemedon’tleavemedon’tleavemeDON’TLEAVEME!”

Jim’s heart was shattering, along the same fault lines as it had when Dad left, and then when Mama died, but he had to be the responsible one here. When Dad left, Mama had been there to take care of them. When Mama died, the sympathetic nurse and doctor and nice neighbors and Peter had been there to take care of them.

Right now, there was only Jim. And he couldn’t waste time on tears, because he had no control who lived and who died, and he needed to tell a story to the police and he needed to not be crying. No crying. Not right now. James and Alexander, always, always, no matter what. He promised to be right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- A common phenomenon in people who have firmly decided to resort to suicide is that they will suddenly become more cheerful than they have been in a long time. In their minds, the doubt and rumination is over, and everything will be better soon. 
> 
> \- I prefer the term "resort to suicide" rather than "commit suicide", because "commit" carries the connotation of crime. A suicide born of mental illness (as opposed to self-sacrifice for the sake of something considered more important) is an act of desperation from someone who is in misery. 
> 
> \- Therefore I have a deep need to write my version of Peter as a good man, already struggling, who has responsibility dumped into his lap that he simply can't handle. It's not the children's fault; children are never at fault for existing and having needs, and he knows that. Also, a common symptom of depression is believing that other people would be better off without you. 
> 
> \- I also want to emphasize that while the boys were deeply wounded by his death, they also knew and appreciated that he loved them. I already wrote about him from Alexander's perspective in the Father's Day chapter of "Holiday Seasons", but I needed more. Delving into Jim's relationship with Alexander was an opportunity to do that naturally.


	3. Ammon, Aaron, Omner, and Himni

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made the previous chapter a separate one-shot as well, as it occurred to me that it can function that way and those uninterested in the rest of this fic might be interested in that. Sorry for the false alarm to any of you who are subscribed to me as an author.
> 
> Jim is going to have brief moments of thinking about unhappy parts of their childhood, but this is a far more pleasant chapter.
> 
> TW: Brief non-graphic discussion of attempted suicide.

“Are you going to be okay with these guys?” Alexander asked. 

“We will be perfect hosts!” Lafayette declared.

John said with fake annoyance, “You do realize you don’t live here.”

“Except in your hearts.”

“Fair enough.”

Jim gave Alexander another hug, because he could, and sent him on his way. It was unexpectedly difficult, even though it would be for less than twenty-four hours. He didn’t show that on his face.

Ned and Lafayette finished setting the table. Meanwhile, John led Jim to the spare room, where Alexander had lived for the first few months after he finished grad school. “Cassette and Oleta, our rats, live in there usually. In a cage, I mean, not loosely, unless it’s supervised playtime. We moved them to our room since you’ll be here multiple nights and their exercise wheel creaks despite all our efforts.”

Pets and children were always reliable icebreakers. Jim asked where the rats came from (they’d been healthy controls in a stomach cancer treatment study at Ned’s lab) and why they were called that (something to do with a podcast called Within the Wires). John showed him where everything was and the eccentric ways of one of the light switches. 

“We’ve been having nice weather, so we’ve been opening the windows, but if you have pollen allergies we can change that.” John smiled, subtly fidgeting. Jim realized that John was just as nervous about making a good impression as Jim was, if not more. 

Inside his chest, Jim uncoiled slightly. “I’m good.”

Dinner was vegetarian, in deference to Ned and John. Ned’s job often required him to hurt and kill rats, but his logic was that there was currently no other reliable way to find lifesaving cancer treatments, but a human could live without eating meat in perfect health. Jim saw his point. It was also nonalcoholic, in deference to Jim and John - John drank sometimes, but very little, on doctor’s orders. Jim suspected that Lafayette was a habitual wine-with-dinner kind of guy.

Lafayette responded to Jim’s query with a good-natured laugh. He had a distinctive accent but spoke quickly and clearly. “My grandmother and my parents-in-law don’t drink either, as part of a different set of beliefs, and all of them watched in quiet despair as my agnostic future wife and I did things like sneak 1960’s vintage Bordeaux in the house on my eighteenth birthday.”

“Have you considered that rather than the alcohol itself her parents might have been overwhelmed by teenagers drinking 1960’s Bordeaux? Out of _teacups_?” John asked, sounding like he’d heard the story before. Lafayette laughed again and put an arm around John’s shoulders for a brief squeeze. Ned didn’t seem to mind. Alexander had mentioned that there were very few living people emotionally closer to Lafayette than himself, and John managed to edge him out by a thin margin for reasons that weren’t his to share. 

Ned must have noticed Jim looking confused, because he said, “A decades-old bottle of Bordeaux would be very expensive. It’d be like teenagers sneaking a lobster made by a five-star chef into the house and eating it on paper plates. Adrienne’s parents are upper-middle-class, but Lafayette’s grandmother married into a lot of old money and would be less inclined to price shock.”

“You’d be a good diplomat if you weren’t in the medical field,” Jim said. He took another bite of the eggplant casserole. Not bad, even for a carnivore like himself.

Ned grinned and shrugged. Maybe Alexander didn’t get his loudness from their father. It was jarring how the two of them looked so similar. Jim and Alexander were believable as brothers, but Jim was having a hard time understanding how Ned and Alexander had ever been believable as _not_ brothers. 

It had been a troubling revelation to learn that Mama had cheated on Dad, having already technically cheated on her first husband by running off with Dad before her divorce was final, but she’d been a good parent. Losing custody of her eldest son Pedro had broken her heart. Jim had been born after all that. When he talked to one of the Stake Presidency, whose day job was family counseling, about his mother’s conduct, the man said to have compassion for a woman who’d loved him and whose struggles he didn’t know. 

_Bastards, orphans, sons of a whore and a Scotsman - more creative than just ‘whoreson’ at least, almost melodic, though Jim had by that point given up correcting them and saying she’d been a cashier in a store, jerk._

_DON’T TALK ABOUT US AND OUR MOTHER LIKE THAT - always Alexander, tiny boy, angry boy, needed a brother if he couldn’t have parents._

None of this was Alexander or Ned’s fault, of course, and as the dinner progressed Jim became more and more grateful that Alexander had spent his adolescence with another brother to look out for him, when Jim couldn’t. Alexander never said it in so many words, but Jim had been a reminder of a painful former life that Alexander hadn’t been ready to face until now. Now he was finally whole enough and well enough to separate his big brother from all the ghosts that came with. 

Ned was calm and occasionally insightful, Lafayette was made of flair and an almost intimidating level of sincerity, and as for John…

John looked at Jim like he was about to ask a question but couldn’t get up the nerve. John was Alexander’s halfway point between his love for Eliza and his love for Ned. (Lafayette was in a category of his own, and less than an hour in, Jim could see why.) Jim hoped to figure out how that worked, before he went home. He wondered if it would be too bold to ask what the question was.

Then Jim got a text. “May I?”

“Of course! It might be Alexander!” Lafayette declared, gesturing dramatically with the glass he was about to drink from. It didn’t spill and wait, were there bubbles in it? Jim amused himself with the thought of a very low-key miracle in which filtered tap water turned into sparkling Perrier.

It was. Alexander was asking if things were going okay and that when his ‘other bros’ asked about their childhood, Jim had permission to share. Jim asked if one of them had sneaked a text, and Alexander said no, he just knew them well, and Eliza had suggested giving Jim an all-clear.

Jim sent a smiley, then put away his phone. “I got a green light. Anyone interested in hearing about what Alexander was like before age eleven?”

“Yes,” Ned replied immediately.

John added, “He almost never talks about that, not even to us or Eliza.” 

“I would literally give you a well-furnished cottage in the French countryside, and also a car, if that were your price,” Lafayette said casually. He looked at Ned. “Monsieur Eduardo, I heard you made a dessert you learned during your two months in Haiti years ago?”

So Jim ended up telling them a childhood’s worth of stories over coconut cream pie. The pastry was store-bought but only Ned seemed to care. John patted mournful Ned on the back and said he’d been happy to brave the grocery store to “provide for my much-better-at-cooking-than-me man”. 

Jim told them that Alexander once had these bizarre, attention-grabbing indigo blue irises before they faded into dark brown over time. Baby Alexander had a piercing scream that made the neighbors’ dog bark. Alexander’s first word in Spanish was “agua”, and his first word in English was “now”. He combined them frequently on hot days. He tried to eat a millipede once before Jim smacked it out of his hands. He pouted when warned not to do it again, and said it looked like a moving noodle.

(That was the anecdote that made Ned go from silent listening to silent giggles.)

Alexander learned how to read twice as fast as the other kids, and started scribbling bilingual poems on scraps of paper shortly after. After they arrived in America but before they parted ways, Alexander had insisted on doing a book report on the Iliad. He’d picked it up on a whim in the library. A translation into English, yes, but it had still not endeared him to the fifth graders who disliked a show-off . He was one of the youngest in the grade, but his test scores were way too high to place him in fourth. For a contest, he wrote a short composition about a hurricane that had passed through their island, and he won a trophy and certificate at a bookstore. It was one of the few times they saw their cousin Peter look delighted. The other two was when Jim helped his team win a baseball game for the first time, and when the boys made him a birthday...a birthday card...and…

“We know about your cousin,” Lafayette said gently.

Jim nodded and had some pie. 

“I played baseball in grade school too,” John offered.

“Yeah?”

Ned asked, “Do you want to hear about Alexander ages thirteen onward?”

Lafayette checked his phone, which had probably vibrated. Lafayette read it and metaphorically vibrated with suppressed excitement. “Sweet friends, Chev has dropped off Pierre at my and Adrienne’s hotel room. Chev will spend the night at the home of an elderly friend who is in poor health. We need to make the most of our time before Friedrich arrives tomorrow. I mean, we’ll spend time together after the wedding, but, you know.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Olympe and Henriette will be in a separate room, right?”

“Olympe is a part-time feminist activist who helps look after their daughter in exchange for help with her college education as well as normal wages,” Ned explained. 

“Naturally! What kind of father do you think of me?” Lafayette got to his feet. “Before I go, raise a glass to the four of us. Thank you, Jim, for telling the stories of tonight.”

Lafayette shook Jim’s hand, gave Ned an elaborate secret handshake, and wrapped his lanky yet leanly muscled arms around John and held him tightly. He whispered something in John’s ear. If this was how demonstrative he was with a close friend, what was he like with his wife?

And then there were three. “How old is Pierre?” Jim asked.

“Twenty-one,” John replied, wiping the corner of his mouth with a paper napkin.

“Wait, what?” It had sounded like a babysitting arrangement between friends.

“Pierre leads an...interesting life.”

Come to think of it, Alexander had said something about a friend by that age and probably that name, who was half-Asian and had immigrated from France at age seven. And had an….interesting life. “Then who is Chev?”

“Pierre’s primary romantic partner.” John placed the word “primary” in the sentence like he was applying a tiny sugar-flower to a cake with tweezers. 

This was quickly going into implications and directions Jim wasn’t up for right now. “Who’s Friedrich?”

“Pierre’s secondary.”

While also having an arrangement with a married couple. Jim held back anything along the lines of “ew”, because that’d be rude, and he’d just realized how overwhelmed he was by these three, even though it was only a bit, and even though they were super nice.

Jim helped Ned clean up. John went to another room for a video chat with the guy he was a PA for, who was spending a few weeks on some charity initiative to mentor young people with dyslexia and other learning disabilities. John wasn’t working full-time until Lewis returned, but he was helping out with tasks here and there. Apparently Lewis was a tense person who used John as emotional support, as well, which was another reason they were chatting a lot. 

“One of the reasons Eliza and Alexander scheduled the wedding for now was so he’d have the free time to do Best Man-ly things,” Ned said as he loaded up the dishwasher. 

“Eliza likes John, I'm sure." Jim was in charge of scraping food scraps into a bag for composting, and putting away any leftovers. Apparently Ned had a garden on the roof, by permission of the building owner, and a compost heap to go with it. 

“Yes. She’s very protective of him.”

“Why?” Jim didn’t mean to push, but he wanted to know about both his hosts and Ned seemed more inclined to talk about his fiance than to talk about himself.

“Ask him.” Ned carefully arranged the silverware for maximum efficiency of placement. “I promised stories of teenage Alexander. Let me tell you about when we were in model U.N. and he was annoyed because he got assigned a forgotten spot in the Caribbean - I can’t even remember the name - when everyone else got a what he described as a ‘not lame’ country…”

Ned was a good wind-down pal, so to speak, far more serene than the other two. He carried Jim through the first story, the punchline of which involved Alexander claiming that the sugarcane economy had collapsed due to problems with human trafficking and high taxes on rum. Plus a hurricane. Alexander had never lost his tendency to treat hurricanes as the ultimate in a potential crisis. They ended up on the couch, and Ned told Jim about Alexander asking for advice on asking a girl to prom. 

“I told him not to make a grand gesture. That’d be coming on too strong. He asked if love poems were too strong. I said they might be. He said, ‘Crap, I’ve sent her three out of five.’”

Jim chuckled. “Did they end up going to prom together?” 

“Nah. She went with a guy Alexander already hated, and he moped at my house until I made him go play laser tag with me.”

“Good choice.”

“He had other friends, and so did I, but until Lafayette came along I was the only one allowed to know about his mental health.” Ned contemplated his chamomile tea, staring into it like he was going to read their fortunes. “Do you resent it?”

“Huh?”

“My getting more time with Alexander than you did.”

Jim looked right at him. “In many, many prayers, I have expressed thanks for Alexander having a true friend who really understood him.”

Ned’s face went soft and content at that. “Mm.” He sipped his tea.

Jim leafed through a book from the coffee table for a while, full of wildlife drawings that John helped draft and informative text about the Chesapeake Bay that John had helped edit and proofread. 

Ned looked at the clock and got up. “I need to get up at six-thirty tomorrow. Dr. Rush, who wouldn’t recognize a hemorrhage if he saw one, has to be waylaid and discouraged. Dr. Kuhn can’t fight him alone.”

“Doctor versus doctor scuffles?” Jim guessed

Ned nodded. “It’s an epidemic. I know you’re on Mountain Time. John’s going to be up for another our or two, and you can stay up after him, of course. Goodnight.”

Jim went to the guest room and removed all his clothing except his garments. He’d brought more than enough to last his stay, but this was clean enough for the night. He’d never gotten over either washing clothes in the sink or painstakingly scrounging up quarters, sometimes fallen ones in the parking lot, for the laundromat. 

He put sweatpants and a partially buttoned flannel shirt on as well, for modesty, and so he didn’t have to field questions about “sacred underwear”. He grabbed his book and his reading glasses, and went back to the couch. The light was better there, and John might wander over again.

Not long after, he heard footsteps. “What’cha reading?” 

“I do this thing where I do a reading loop of the Bible, the Book of Mormon, the...uh, the other two scriptures. I know enough not to get evangelical with you. It’s not the only thing I read, but I have a daily quota and haven’t met it yet for today. Partway through the Book of Mormon. Always liked this part. About the sons of Mosiah.”

“I see. I don’t mind you summarizing what it’s about.”

“Ammon, Aaron, Omner, and Himni. Used to be hooligans and whatnot, had a conversion experience, went on exciting action-packed missions afterwards. They had a mutual friend named Alma the Younger, who had the same experience.” 

“So we’d call him Alma Lastname Junior, in our culture.” 

“Haha.” Jim positioned one of the attached ribbon bookmarks to keep his place. John had dressed down into what looked like yoga pants, and also a gray tank top. That’s when Jim noticed the scars all over his right shoulder. There was a scattering of marks, and also a large one at the intersection of shoulder socket and collar bone. He must have barely missed fracturing the bone. 

John glanced down at it. “I take it Alexander didn’t tell you.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

“It’s okay. Did you know about his various inpatient stays?”

“I did.” Jim had been so worried about Alexander’s time in Vernon Psychiatric Crisis Center’s Adolescent Ward that the Washingtons had sent him links to look it up and see that it was in the top ten temporary psych wards in the country. 

Putting his laptop on the table first, John took a seat on the couch so that Jim was on his right and could easily see the scarring. “Did you know about his stay in First Floor Men’s Ward in September 2015?”

“I did.” Apparently Alexander’s manic episode had frightened everyone, including himself, and it had taken a while to recalibrate his medication and work on some unresolved issues.

“The first set of scars, the scattered little ones, is from my brief time in Afghanistan before the building blew up. Shrapnel.”

“Ouch. Uh, thank you for your service.”

John shrugged just his left arm. “Thanks. I didn’t do much. Mostly paperwork, as an aide, though I went through Basic and so on. Anyway, the second one’s from when Lafayette caught me trying to shoot myself in the mouth…”

Jim showed only polite sympathy. John was counting on him not to make a big deal out of it.

“...And he tackled me and I shot myself in the shoulder instead. Told me to go to Vernon and he’d sort out the details. When Nurse Eliza sends me to my room, I find some guy sitting on the floor frantically writing color-coded essays, an itemized list, and a poem in crayons, having temporarily lost his pen privileges for threatening to shove a ballpoint up his previous roommate's nose.” John laughed at the memory, so Jim felt it was okay to laugh as well. 

“What’d he say to you?”

“He asked what I was in for, and when I told him he said very seriously that he would do his best to ‘not be an asshole’.” John leaned his head back onto the couch and spend a second in memory. “You see, Lafayette saved my life, and then Alexander made me want to keep living. He jumpstarted the battery, you know?”

“Wow.” Jim thought John had unintentionally healed a deep scar in Alexander’s soul, as well, because this time it hadn’t been like Peter. Jim knew now that Peter had needed professional help and a support system, and that all the love of two little boys could never have fixed him on his own. John had professional help and a support system, and Alexander’s love had obviously gone a long way to fixing him.

“And I was there for him when we had a crisis involving another patient who should have been in a more violent ward, but you’ll have to ask Sam Seabury about that. He’s the one who gets to tell that story, if he wants. He’ll be at the wedding and reception. He’s small and smiley except when he thinks Congress is plotting against us personally. Anyway, that’s why both Ned and Eliza understand that we have a bond with each other that’s...maybe...unusual? Is that the word?”

“I think I catch your drift.” This also explained Ned’s comment about Eliza being protective of John, if she’d first met him within days of him shooting himself.

John stretched and yawned. “I can tell you about my tattoo later. I had a boxing class this morning and I’m starting to feel it.”

“Gosh, I hadn’t even noticed that tattoo.” Jim couldn’t fully see it from this angle, but he thought it might be turtle-shaped. 

“That’s common when people see this much of my upper body for the first time. The scars are eye-catching. ” John gave him a thumbs-up. “Thanks for the stories and thank you very much for keeping Alexander in one piece for as long as you did. We all appreciate it.”

Jim nodded. He didn’t know what to say to that. As John got up to go, though, Jim asked, “Does your shoulder hurt?”

John thought about it. “Only when it’s about to be bad weather, or I strain it with too much movement or heavy weights. I keep any teachers and trainers informed. Or when I...sometimes in dreams, in bad dreams. I hope you have good dreams tonight.”

“Thank you.” Jim would pray the same for John. 

Then John paused, and said more brightly, “Oh, and by the way, the first thing I ever heard about Eliza was Alexander telling me that she’d given him a whole box of crayons when she was only supposed to give him one. Many months later, when I was here and he was in New York, he left me about sixty text messages when he found out she’d transferred to Adolescent Ward.”

“Even if he relapsed, there wouldn’t be a conflict of interest or whatever,” Jim agreed. “He emailed me. There was a bunch of capslock. If you can find a way to leave out anything sensitive, that’d go great in your Best Man speech.”

“Uh, don’t remind me that I have to do a speech. I might say, like, three sentences and then hand the mike over to Angelica if I keep having trouble writing it.” John waved him goodnight. Jim waved in return and then went back to the sons of Mosiah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having trouble finding it again, but I saw a great photo of a recovered document that appears to be the wee Alexander Hamilton's Iliad homework. He and James had to be taught privately because children born out of wedlock weren't allowed to go to the main local school. 
> 
> Which leads us to Olympe de Gouges, who campaigned for the rights of illegitimate children. Most famously, she also took the Declaration of the Rights of Man, mostly by Lafayette and with help from Thomas Jefferson (as referenced in song), and wrote a sequel called "Declaration of the Rights of Woman and the Female Citizen". Who'd been left out. Again. In this 'verse she picks up the slack when it comes to Lafayette's literal offspring, rather than metaphorical.


	4. Charlie and Craig Reid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already gave a blanket spoiler warning for the Time Out of Mind series. In this chapter there is a (quite mild, compared to how many twists it has) spoiler for ["and hold your tongue"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9142921/chapters/20772706), part of this series' spinoff series Our Agency. That sounds very convoluted now that I've written it out.
> 
> In his mind and not aloud, due to a completely innocent misunderstanding, Jim misgenders someone.

When Jim got up a little after seven to use the bathroom, through the crack in the bedroom door he could see that Ned and John were having a more thorough goodbye kiss than Jim was accustomed to seeing, let alone between two men. They were very discreet when they knew he could see them. He didn’t make a sound, closed the door, and waited until the coast was clear. 

When Jim got up for keeps, he found John at the dining table fully dressed and eating toast. “Good morning. Sleep okay? There’s a fresh towel on the rack in the bathroom for you. I talked to Alexander before he ran off to do the million things he hasn’t done, and he wanted me to relay a slightly altered schedule.”

After Jim had showered, shaved, changed, and was all set up with breakfast, he made a gesture for John to begin.

“Adrienne ended up needing the rental car, and Pierre has a terrible fear of taxis - I don’t know why, but we respect it - so if you don’t mind, on the way to sending you to Alexander’s place, I’m going to pick up Lafayette and Pierre for last-minute groomsman tux fittings. The measurements we sent in ages ago might not tell the whole story. Ned and I have already done them, but I’m going to be guiding Pierre and Lafayette through the process.”

Alexander had invited Jim to be a groomsman as well, but in addition to scheduling difficulties, Jim wasn’t comfortable being directly part of a ceremony in a church not his own. Everyone had been understanding about it. 

“That’s fine. I’m very grateful to have been asked, I hope you know that too.”

John raised his orange juice in salute. “I know. Alexander also asked Thom, who I believe you’ve heard about, but he and his wife won’t be arriving from London until tonight. The Embassy wouldn’t give them much time off. Plus if Thom were standing up at the front it would be an awkward angle for lip-reading.”

Given the nature of the guy’s history with the groom, that might also be a recipe for a different kind of awkward as well. “Are there any other groomsmen?”

“Alexander’s old roommate Patrick, from grad school. He’s fallen out of touch with his undergrad social set. He says it was hard figuring out how to adult when it felt like he was in a strange new land, fighting a war.”

“He mentioned that to me too. I know the feeling.” Jim had been content to stop at a B.A. and had been very happy there, but the year of high school after Mom and Pop had taken him with them to a new state had been low on friendship and high on trying to sort out his head. “What about on Eliza’s side?”

“Her sisters Angelica, Peggy, and Catherine Junior, her sister on an emotional rather than literal level Betsy Fry, and my sister Martha, called Missy by some. You know, in three weeks I’ll be Alexander’s half-brother in law, and therefore Eliza’s half-brother in law law, and therefore Missy would be Eliza’s half-sibling in law law law. Cubed. Maybe.” The close spacing of the two weddings was mostly for Lafayette’s sake, Jim knew. 

“I am sure that is exactly how it works,” Jim said gravely, spreading jam on his second slice of toast. Alexander had told him that he only had time for a week’s break for his honeymoon because he was part of the team advocating for a new Treasury bill to get through Congress. He and Eliza were going to spend the time quietly on a lakefront Schuyler timeshare in upstate New York, with Angelica’s household taking in their son for those few days. 

“I can ask Pierre if any of the other languages he knows would have a convenient term for it.” John glanced at his watch. “We have about thirty-five minutes before we need to leave.”

“Are there other schedule changes I need to know about?”

“Right! So the rehearsal is this evening, followed by the dinner at George and Martha Washington’s house. You’re definitely invited to the second thing. We wouldn’t chase you out of the rehearsal, but if you’re interested in spending more time with your nephew, Eliza realized that might be a good slot. He’s covered babysitting-wise no matter what. Just letting you know your options.” John got to his feet. “You don’t need to stop eating yet. I just promised Ned I’d go water his plants on the roof. He was running late.”

“Sounds good. I’ll tidy up after myself.”

***

“That is one very nice hotel,” Jim said, gawking at it through the car window.

John checked his texts. “They’re on the way down. Lafayette and Adrienne used to have an adorable little house in Charlottesville, back when they were my only genuine non-estranged friends in the world. They mostly cleaned it themselves, except for having a professional do a deeper clean twice a month. It was possible to forget that they are literal aristocrats. Then they stay in something like that, and I’m like, oh right.”

Lafayette soon emerged in what Jim could only call a Prince Charming take on the concept of a springtime raincoat, with his arm around the shoulders of what had to be Pierre. The kid might have been twenty-one, but he could have passed for seventeen in his jeans, Converse knockoffs, big glasses of the kind that seemed to be in style among college students these days, and cardigan with overly long sleeves. They both quickly climbed into the backseat. 

“You must be Jim! Pierre Etienne, at your service.”

Jim twisted around to make polite eye contact. “Yes, I’m Jim. Nice to meet you.” 

John also twisted around. His gaze fell on Pierre’s left hand. “I thought you and Chev weren’t into wedding rings?”

“We’re not, but sometimes it’s nice to let people know we’re married without having to explain over and over why we don’t wear them. This is just lightly gold plated, and just until we go home. Chev’s only going to wear one during the reception.”

In order to not defeat the purpose, Jim didn’t ask why the pair weren’t into wedding rings. “My grandma wears hers around her neck to avoid hurting her arthritic fingers.”

“It’s important to be able to remove a ring when necessary,” Lafayette agreed.

It was Jim’s fault for looking at Pierre’s face in the rearview mirror, but oh gosh, why was he cringe-smiling at that? 

John told everyone to buckle up, and started the car.

Once they were properly on the road, Lafayette said, “Speaking of necessity, Olympe heard about a temporary carnival just over the Maryland border that she pleaded to go to today. It’s very exotic to her. Chev has agreed to go with her as an interpreter who both speaks French and she has some acquaintance with.”

Chev sounded like a nice person, Jim decided, oddness notwithstanding. He remembered that she’d spent the previous night with a sick friend. He should remember that. Would it be rude to ask if it was short for Chevrolet? Everyone was pronouncing it with the same soft “sh”. It wouldn’t be that weird. He’d had a classmate in high school named Mercedes; her dad worked in an auto shop and said it used to be a girl’s name before it was a car’s name. 

Pierre snickered. “I remember going to an amusement park on a double date with Reinette and Marie, and they figured out that a game involving BB guns was seriously rigged and demanded six of the Beanie Babies on offer in exchange for silence. All of them went to Marie, who’s recently developed a special interest in Beanie Babies.”

All right, presumably Chev and her friend could be shrewd and ruthless as well. 

Lafayette noticed that Pierre’s cardigan was buttoned wrong and started casually fixing it. Everyone acted like this was normal. “Olympe taking the evening off means that Adrienne will be the one supervising Henriette and Philip at Alexander and Eliza’s home during the rehearsal. Alexander indicated, Jim, that you have interest in spending time with Philip, though if you prefer to go sightseeing or so on, no one will mind. We’d all like you to dine with us at the home of the Washington’s.”

“I don’t want to miss that.” Jim had not only never met Alexander’s final set of foster parents, he’d never even spoken to them directly. He only knew the fact of Martha Washington having two children from her first marriage, without knowing much else about them. The Custis siblings were much older than Alexander and had both moved out by the time he moved in, though he’d interacted with them during holidays. Seeing the house Alexander had spent his teenage years in was an exciting opportunity. 

John switched on his turn signal. “Oh, I know that Friedrich got an invitation, but I don’t know if he accepted. Isn’t he taking the opportunity to talk to GMU today about teaching a military history course?”

“Yes, and he’s accepted the invitation. Did he ever tell you the story of him rescuing Dr. Washington’s rather disorganized and panicky boy scout troop from unexpectedly bad conditions while they were camping? This was years ago. He didn’t tell it for ages to anyone who met Dr. Washington in his, you know, doctor capacity, not wanting to undermine our faith in him.”

Lafayette said, “Mon Generale - that’s my pet name for George Washington - has confirmed this anecdote, though he denies the claim that quite so much shouting was involved.”

“Ask Friedrich about it. It’s a great story either way, but he’s best at storytelling.” Pierre yawned and started poking the back of John’s seat. Lafayette said something in French and handed him a bottle of water.

“Ooh! Ooh! I nearly forgot!” John snapped his fingers, without taking his other hand off the wheel of course. “No flash photography at the dinner. Never. Lafayette knew this, as he’s met her, and most of the guests will also know already. But Jim and Pierre: Patsy Custis sometimes has seizures at flashing lights, okay?”

“She nearly died during a seizure when she was a teenager,” Lafayette said, suddenly somber.

“I’ll tell Chev.” Then Pierre gasped. “Jim! I wanted to ask you! I’m doing a paid internship with a bunch of psycholinguists who are studying language acquisition, and out of private curiosity I have a question or two about how the Missionary Training Center prepares the Morm - I mean LDS, I know you prefer LDS - missionaries for foreign language missions. It’s a very short time, I’ve heard. Like, in general I’m interested, but I’m especially intrigued by things like going on a Hmong-speaking mission to the refugee-founded enclaves in Minnesota, or learning a Chinese dialect to tap into Chinese immigrant communities in Australia. Is that okay? I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

Jim smiled, though he was looking out the window and Pierre might not have seen it. It clicked for him then, how Alexander had become such close friends with someone so much younger and, uh, wilder. “Yeah, sure, ask away.”

***

Alexander greeted Jim at the door with a hug that rivaled the one at the airport. “Hello hello hello! We ordered takeout from a nearby Lebanese place we really like. We’ve been kinda bad at doing our own cooking these past few days. Time for you to meet the top two wonderfulnesses in my life.”

Jim stepped inside and looked at the bags under Alexander’s eyes. “How much did you sleep last night?”

“Bout five hours. Flapjack is teething. Don’t worry, I’m a champion napper. I’m going to squeeze in half an hour during the rehearsal while the groomsmen and bridesmaids are getting their act together. I’m taking a sleeping bag and I’ve scoped out a bit of floor space in the room where they keep the extra folding chairs. Booyah.”

Then Eliza appeared. “Jim. I’ve been so looking forward to this.” She approached him with arms open, welcoming, and Jim could imagine anyone’s blood pressure dropping and breath evening out if she greeted them like that. 

Then she nearly tripped on a wooden block and obviously bit back a curse, and that was kind of wonderful. Truly perfect people were frightening to mere mortals. “I’m sorry. Philip likes to build up towers and then knock them over, and sometimes they scatter.”

“I know how it is. I’ve got one rugrat with another one coming in less than a month. We’re bracing ourselves.” He stepped into the hug.

Eliza looked like she was about to say something, but Philip yelled from another room. “MADAMA!”

“How old is he again?” Jim asked, de-hugging. 

“Seven months. He uses ‘madama’, or variations on it, when he wants both of us.”

“That’s pretty clever, actually.”

Alexander beamed. “Food just got here a few minutes ago. Have you had stuffed grape leaves?”

Philip was crawling around the dining room when they got there. A baby gate stretched across the entrance to the kitchen. Exactly like at Jim’s house. You didn’t want to trip over a fragile yet fast critter while handling sharp or hot objects.

Jim walked past the dining table and bent down to get closer to Philip’s level. “Hey big guy, how’s it going?”

Philip stopped in his tracks. His onesie said CREEPY in gothic font. He looked at Jim with large brown eyes and a big dose of skepticism, then dismissed him as unimportant. He sat down and looked at his parents expectantly. “Teeeeee. Teee-eee-ee.”

“That usually, but not always, means he wants a teething ring,” Alexander said, stepping over the baby gate on his way to the fridge. “We keep them on rotation so there’s always a cold one ready to go. He’s going to start crying in less than a minute if we don’t accept his demands.”

“Supervillain,” Eliza commented, with a smile. She looked tired as well, but less like she’d been dredged out of the ocean and quickly cleaned up than her husband did. She sat down. “Sorry to just flop like this. I’ve been on my feet since morning. This is one of the reasons that we’ve made tomorrow a buffer day for no wedding business, only rest and very quiet times with small groups at maximum.”

Alexander held a chilled teething ring out to Philip, who grabbed it and immediately started gumming at it like it had dishonored his family and he had to teach it a lesson. He paused long enough to look up and say, “Eh!”

“It’s a general expression of approval,” Alexander translated. He gave Philip a pat on the back and went to sit by Eliza.

“That much verbal communication is on the advanced side for his age,” Jim said, sitting across from them. Alexander would have clearly been preening his feathers if he had any. 

Eliza shrugged modestly. “Babies develop at different speeds. The baby books only tell you averages. He took ages to be able to get up from being on his back.”

“Plus he gets himself into trouble. Like, he seems to think walls will be soft if he just crawls towards them with enough self-confidence. Then there was the time we left him with the Eacker family down the road and he lightly smacked their bigger boy with his tiny baby hand. Georgie, in return, hit him considerably harder. The parents apologized and we don’t blame them, but we’ve decided not to mix those two again.” Alexander pointed at a plate with four foil-wrapped cylindrical bundles. “This is fantastic shawarma. We got both lamb and beef.”

“Lamb, please.” He also accepted tabbouleh salad and one of those stuffed grape leaf things. 

Eliza took a beef shawarma and half a lamb one. She’d eaten breakfast several hours ago. “He’s fine with his cousins Pip and Kit - which is good, seeing as he’ll see a lot of them while we’re gone for a week - and we’ve exposed him to Theo Burr, who’s a few years older. That went fine, though she seemed confused and hurt that he couldn’t understand how to play Tic Tac Toe. She doesn’t spend much time with babies.”

“It's good to have evidence that your baby might not be ageist against toddlers in general,” Alexander joked. “Hopefully he’ll mix fine with Henriette later today.”

They asked about his family, both the one that adopted him and the one he helped create, and that carried them through much of the meal. Then Alexander said, “I still feel bad about how late I was in telling you about Philip, after we’d told so many other people. You’ve been nice about it, but still.”

Jim suspected that part of it was Alexander worrying that Jim would be disappointed in Alexander for not being married, as if Jim had ever thought badly of Mama and Dad for not being married. Jim wasn't inclined to care about Alexander’s personal choices - other than being worried for his health and safety, that was. If his guess was correct, then what they were about to say meant even more because of that.

“We’re not telling more than a handful of people for another two months, to be on the safe side, but you’re the first.” Eliza looked down at Philip, who was holding and babbling at a stuffed unicorn. Apparently he’d chosen it when given a number of options at the store. “If everyone goes well, he’s going to have a sibling before the year is out. Which we’re very happy about.”

Jim reached across the table and gave Alexander a handshake. “That’s wonderful. Welcome to the repeat offenders’ club.”

***

Philip could now take a few steps if he had someone holding his hands, taking his weight, and steering and motivating him. After lunch, Jim won enough trust for Philip to allow that. 

_“And I would walk five hundred miles and I would walk five hundred more, just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door…”_

“I like that you’re doing the accent,” Alexander said. Eliza was taking a quick shower after Philip somehow got his hands on the yogurt sauce and flinged it at her hair. Jim firmly believed the best cure for rambunctiousness was exercise. 

“Gotta do the accent.” Jim looked down and addressed the child with enthusiasm. “This is the fun part, Flubadub. DA DA DA DA!”

“DA DA DA!” Philip replied, off-key.

“DA DA DA DA!”

“Daaaaaaa!”

“You’ll blow us all away someday, kiddo. Da da da da de dum de dum de da.”

“Dee dee da.”

“Such a poet.”

“It’s by The Proclaimers. The Proclaimers are a pair of brothers, right?” Alexander took out his phone. “Just a second, I have a powerful urge to Google their names.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Everyone in the car was so used to Chev that they forgot to tell Jim that Chev's pronouns are they/them. Except in emergencies, only Chev is allowed to tell someone what it's short for. (In this universe, that is, since they are not a literal Chevalier(e) here.) Jim's brain makes everything heterosexual by default, hence jumping to 'she'. 
> 
> \- Tiny shout-out to Elizabeth "Betsy" Fry, "Angel of Prisons", who successfully campaigned to make the horrific British prison system of the time more humane. She also set up resources for the rehabilitation of female ex-convicts and help for their children. Florence Nightingale drew inspiration from her.


	5. Uncles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on writing the actual party in this chapter, but people keep on insisting on having heart-to-hearts with Jim.

Adrienne Noailles du Motier, Marquise de Lafayette. Jim was pretty sure those names were in the correct order. Her skin was a few shades darker than her husband’s and her smile was just as bright. She had one child in her arms and a future child announcing itself under her dress.

She arrived fifteen minutes after Alexander and Eliza left. Jim had spent the time trying to teach Philip how to thumb wrestle. The boy’s fine motor skills weren’t quite there yet, but he compensated by being a graceful loser. 

“Hello, I am Adrienne. You must be Jim. I have scolded your brother for telling me so little of you.” Her French accent was not as dramatic as Lafayette’s, but nothing of anyone’s was likely to be as dramatic as Lafayette’s. She placed her daughter on the floor. Her daughter seemed dubious about all this, and looked at Jim like she suspected he might be a con artist.

“Yes, I’m Jim. I am always in favor of Alexander’s friends keeping him in line.” Jim was already on the floor, but he twisted away from Philip to give the baby girl a more full-on smile. “And who is this?”

 _“Henriette, dis bonjour.”_ Adrienne said. Henriette became interested in the carpet. Adrienne patted her back and went to fetch a chair for herself. Crouching on the floor would be tricky for her. “It’s nothing personal, Jim. She says not much. She understands much more than she says. Not more than a word or two of English, though. We will wait and see which way the wind will blow.”

“Have you met this terror over here?” 

Adrienne waved. “Yes, twice now. Hello Philip!”

“Ennie?” Philip asked, pointing at her.

“Yes!” Adrienne pointed back. 

Jim got up, despite Philip’s distress at his opponent not following the rules of their duel.“Can I get you something to drink? They showed me where everything is.”

“Any form of juice, please.”

“For Henriette?”

“I will fill her cup when she is thirsty, thank you. She has a special cup.” Adrienne adjusted the loose clip in Henriette’s hair. Henriette hummed. Jim imagined a favorite with a fun design. What a nice idea.

Jim poured himself a tumbler of water while he was at it, and brought it along with Adrienne’s grapefruit juice. “You like double letters in your family. Lafayette. Adrienne. Henriette.”

“We call my husband Gilbert within the family. By blood, I mean. Our full family is beyond that.” Adrienne took her drink with her left hand. Her wedding ring was just as discreet and simple as her husband’s. Alexander said if you knew anything about fashion brands, Lafayette was metaphorically dripping with jewels, but Adrienne preferred commissioning things from dressmakers. Which still cost much more than off-the-rack, especially in the U.S. and France. Stealth wealth. He said they bought baby clothes from regular stores, though, since babies outgrow clothes so fast.

“Is that his first name?”

“It’s either his fifth or sixth, depending whether you think the hyphen makes Marie-Joseph a single name. Gilbert is the one adjacent to his surname. I found it more than a little absurd when first hearing.”

Philip had not yet shown interest in Henriette when there were so many foam blocks to try to cram in his mouth. Henriette was transfixed by a stain in the carpet, and was tracing it with her index finger.

“How many double letters do you plan for the next one?” Jim joked. 

“Anastasie will break the mold. The repeats will have consonants between.” Adrienne said something to Henriette that was too quiet for Jim to catch. Henriette hummed again.

“Sure it’ll be a girl? We were sure about ours, but it turned out, contrary peanut he is, he was twisting himself into strategic poses during sonograms.” Good thing they hadn’t had much of a baby shower, and what gifts they had received weren’t heavily gendered in style.

Adrienne nodded. “We did genetic testing, and along the way happened to receive a surer prediction. My sister teases, says we must thank Gilbert’s late grandmother for her last-minute infusion to an aristocratic gene pool, for even Gilbert’s parents were moderately distant cousins. I have forgotten. More than first, less than sixth.”

“I’m sure you bring some variety to the table?” Jim hoped that was following a similar teasing vein and not insulting either sides of the family. He was mindful of the ‘were’ when it came to Lafayette’s parents.

She laughed. “I do. My parents are from a very far part of Senegal than Gilbert’s grandmother left when young. It is not certain of course, and it is not always from genes, but what preparation we can do, we wish to do. Anastasie is at risk for certain heart defects, we learned, so I am being greatly diligent with my folic acid. C’est la vie.”

Philip rapidly crawled over to inspect Henriette. Henriette crawled a few inches, wobbly inches, before running out of steam. 

“How old is she?”

Henriette hummed, then a look of frustration crossed her face. And a look of pain. She whined.

“Seventeen months,” Adrienne said, with a dash of bittersweetness. Henriette was about the same weight as Philip, and he moved with more ease and enthusiasm. He was far more inclined to vocalize. But Philip was ten months younger than her. Adrienne scooped her up and started massaging her limbs. “She played this morning. When she tries to move too much, she has cramps. She...it took us longer that I feel it should have, for us to realize she was not suckling enough for her needs. She swallows poorly. It has contributed to her smallness. At first we thought it was only her prematurity. Now that she eats soft solids, it is easier to monitor.”

He looked from beautiful girl to beautiful mother. “As you have been so kind to share...it took us ages to notice that our boy had serious stomach problems, and to correct them. Don’t beat yourself up about not being prepared for the unexpected. I know you will do whatever it takes. I bet you would punch anyone who told you she wasn’t wonderful.”

“Yes. To us, she outshines the morning sun.”

“You’d be right to.” He was only partly joking. 

Adrienne gave him a slow, full smile. “Testify it before the judge, should it happen if you are near. The world must be safe and sound for her.”

“Sure thing. You know, other kids said there was something wrong with Alexander. I punched one. Dad said, ‘Cut it out, lad, until you learn better form at least.’ Mama didn’t think that was funny, but I did.” 

It had taken Jim years to enjoy telling anecdotes involving his namesake, and Alexander had been pleased when he did. _“We loved him for real reasons. That’s legit.”_

“You were a fine brother to him then.”

A French noblewoman had told him he was a fine brother. He was pretty sure he’d written a self-insert short story involving this when he was thirteen. “There’s defects, and then there’s differences that just need to be addressed differently, you know?”

“To dedicating every day to them.” Adrienne cuddled Henriette close and rubbed her muscles loose in a way that meant she’d been taught by a pro. The tension eventually went out of the little girl and she was willing to carefully move around again.

Later on, Philip started yelling for no particular reason, and Jim carried him on his shoulders and made ‘dinosaur’ noises until the novelty overcame Philip’s fussiness. Adrienne managed to get Henriette interested in a toy xylophone, which she tapped at systematically with surprising tunefulness, rather than just banging on it like Philip did on his turn. Adrienne’s affectionate expression at Henriette plinking could heal nations. 

Henriette’s special cup turned out to be shaped in such a way as to help keep her from choking, but Jim hadn’t been wrong, either. It was also sparkly pink and blue with pictures of yellow ducklings.

****

Ned had volunteered to pick up both Jim and Phillip to take them to the dinner party. Adrienne was driving Henriette back to the hotel in order to hand her over to Olympe, freshen up a bit - even though Jim thought she looked fine already - and then join the group on her own. Phillip was a social baby and knew most of the people who’d be there, while Henriette would know almost nobody and was easily overstimulated.

“What’s Chev doing?” Jim asked as he helped Ned strap Philip into a car seat. 

“Errands, Pierre told me.” Ned booped Philip’s nose, making him laugh. “Won’t be at the dinner. I’ll introduce you two at the reception if you like.”

Jim got into his own seat. “By the way, I changed Philip’s diaper about fifteen minutes ago, so we should be good for awhile.”

“Now I have to compete in the Nephew Olympics with you too, huh?” Ned started the car and eased them out of the driveway.

“Who else is competing?”

“Eliza’s sister Peggy and her girlfriend Sybil try to one-up John and me.”

“What about with Angelica’s kids?”

“I don’t know, because John and I stay out of it. Eliza’s never been the one to try and grab the spotlight, though. Plus John Church isn’t as social with his in-laws as Alexander and Eliza are with theirs, and his own siblings are all in England.”

“My wife’s relatives have a lot of kids, so it’s less of a novelty,” Jim said.

“My parents know that John doesn’t want children and that I can live with that. He has tried very hard to be a good brother when given the chance, but domestic life was never quite his style. My parents treat Philip as a grandon. My mother, too. She always loved Alexander as my friend. Doesn’t blame him.” 

“That’s wonderful.” Jim knew meeting the Stevens was going to be awkward, but he needed to thank Thomas Stevens for using his power as a social worker to place Alexander with the Washingtons the moment he became aware of Alexander’s existence. Him acknowledging Alexander would have been more honorable, but it was at least decent of him, and the Washingtons had been a good fit.

They stopped at a red light. Ned turned to him. “How nervous were you when your wife was pregnant?”

“Mildly. I’m surrounded by her big family, so it wasn’t that unfamiliar.” Jim racked his brain to try and figure out why Ned was asking. 

Green light. “One of my closest friends, Hester, asked me to be the donor for her and her wife’s child. Succeeded, but she lives hours away by car. I can’t check on her all the time. Terrible morning sickness. Her feet swelled up. Badly. I felt like I was the one doing to her. Alexander snapped me out of it. He was friends with Hester too, in high school. She’s technically my ex, but that was just to protect her.”

“Protect her?”

“Until she was 18 and her parents couldn’t force her to go to ‘conversion therapy’. She knew they would’ve. Found brochures her parents left lying around. They hurt kids there. Tubman administration’s outlawed those places.”

Jim hadn’t thought about things like that. Whatever made Ned, John, Alexander, Thom, Peggy, Sybil, Catherine Jr, Lafayette, and Pierre do what they did, it had to be very powerful. It had to be stronger than not just natural instincts, but fear. It might be misguided, but it was still strength, and in that moment he felt humble. 

Ned coughed out of emotion and slipped a folded-up guest list into Jim’s hand and let him read it.

****  
Dinner party guest list:

 

Alexander Hamilton  
Eliza Schuyler (will answer to Eliza Hamilton, but not yet legally so)  
Martha Washington  
George Washington  
Patsy Custis  
Jack Custis  
Philip Schuyler  
Catherine Schuyler  
Jim Hamilton  
Philip Hamilton  
Eduardo “Ned” Stevens  
John Laurens  
Patrick Henry  
Pierre Nguyen Etienne  
Friedrich von Steuben  
Adrienne  
Lafayette  
Angelica Schuyler (will answer to Angelica Church; has no plan to be so legally)  
John Church  
Peggy Schuyler  
Sybil Ludington  
Catherine Schuyler Jr.  
Betsy Fry  
Martha Laurens  
Ramzi David  
Bill Lee

May or may not show up partway through:  
Thom Pinckney (Deaf, can lip read)  
Liz Pinckney (Deaf, uses a hearing aid when needed)  
Chev d’Eon

****

As they were driving down the street the house was on, he said, “Last thing. Important. Most people don’t know Alexander and I are related. For now. By request of my parents. Our father’s confession was tough for their marriage. Took them hard work to repair. Don’t bring it up until someone else does, please.”

The Washington’s house was huge and looked to be many decades old. Maybe a century if it had been kept in good condition. It had a big garden and an ornamental pond with colorful fish, too. Lots of cars were parked in the garage, driveway, and next to the curb in front of the property. There was a tethered balloon floating in a prime and empty parking space. It said JOHN AND NED’S CAR ONLY.

“You and John only have the one car, huh?” Jim asked as they got out. “Hey, hey, you get to play uncle for Pickle here whenever you want. I only have a few days.”

Ned put his hands in the air in surrender and let Jim take over car seat and carrying duties. “Parking is scarce. John’s workplace is easily accessible by Metro. Plus better for the environment.”

“Makes sense. You’ve got less sprawl around here than where I live.” Jim addressed Philip next. “Want another shoulder ride? Yeah?”

“Eh!” Philip shouted.  
“You nervous?” Ned asked as he led the two towards the house.

“A little,” Jim admitted. It was one thing to meet three of Alexander’s brothers/brother figures at once, and another to encounter eighteen new people that he wanted to like him for Alexander’s sake.

Ned seemed to pick up on his distress. “Free tip. John Church might drone on about things like what kind of drywall is best to use in home renovation. If you start dying inside but don’t want to hurt a good guy’s feelings, tell him you need to ask me when we’re leaving tonight. Then start deep conversation with me. Or someone near me. Alexander has many tips like this.”

“I’m the owner of a carpentry shop, so that particular subject might not be that boring for me, but I get the picture.”

“He also likes discussing tiny printing errors in foreign coins. The correct way to make tea and toast. In detail. And...”

Philip felt the shudder that passed through Jim and made a confused noise. “Got the idea. Thank you. As I said last night, you’d be a heck of a diplomat.”

“Heh. Thanks.” The door was unlocked. Ned turned the doorknob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's too early for Henriette to have a definitive diagnosis in-universe, but her parents suspect mild cerebral palsy. Cerebral palsy is rarely genetic or predictable, but I figure they would still want to do the best they can to not miss ANYTHING Anastasie might need from them. Writing this couple supporting a disabled child is more interesting to me than writing closer to reality and killing Henriette off as an infant.


	6. Jared and the Brother of Jared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH SO MANY PEOPLE 
> 
> Sorry some of them got short shrift.

Unlike in Jim’s anxious dreams about a moment like this, people didn’t turn to stare at him when he came in the door. A young woman in a yellow dress made a beeline for Philip, though, and made grabby hands. “Auntie time!”

Ned closed the door behind them. “Jim’s only got a few days with Philip, Peggy. Ask him first.”

Jim let Philip down from his shoulders and placed him on the floor. Philip started crawling towards Peggy. “It’s okay. I’m meeting a bunch of people and Philip might be distracting.”

“Eh ee,” Philip said, grabbing onto his aunt’s ankle.

She smiled widely and shook Jim’s hand. “Jim as in the mysterious James Hamilton?”

“As in. You’re an art therapist, right?”

“You’ve been briefed. Nice.” She looked over shoulder. “Sybil’s waving at me. The two of us are the child-wranglers for the evening. Lovely to meet you. C’mon, your Daddy said you’ll be asleep by sundown. Your Church cousins are upstairs hogging all the toys. You need to teach them sharing.”

“Eh ee,” Philip repeated when she scooped him up and whisked him away. He looked back at Jim and stared with large dark eyes.

“Shall we?” Ned asked.

Dinner hadn’t been laid out yet, but all was ready otherwise. The plates and utensils were all to one side. Buffet setup. That room was only half-separated from the enormous living room by a partial wall. People were milling around the living room and on the veranda, the evening being pleasant enough to leave the French doors open as well as the windows. There were carved wooden bowls of nuts and fancy vegetable chips on multiple small tables. Most people had some sort of beverage in hand.

A boy in a frankly precious little suit walked up to him. “Can I get either of you something to drink? We have water, soda, mint lemonade, and Mrs. Washington’s special ‘Cherry Bounce’ punch.”

“The mint lemonade doesn’t have alcohol, right?” Jim asked. When the boy shook his head, he said, “Then I want that, please. Only a little ice.”

“The Cherry Bounce has alcohol, right?” Ned asked. When the boy nodded, he said, “Then I want that, please. Lots of ice.”

“You did that on purpose,” Jim said as the boy scurried off.

“I like a parallel.”

“Who is that?”

“Payne. Eliza became close to his mother Dolley Madison when they worked together on Theodosia Burr’s cancer fundraiser awhile back. He’s raising money for charity, too.”

Across the room, Lafayette waved at Jim. Waving back, Jim noticed that Lafayette was perched on the arm of an armchair containing none other than George Washington himself. Jim would work up to that. The man made a cushy piece of furniture look like a throne, just by his posture, though Lafayette’s chatter had softened the face that always looked so stoic in pictures.

Ned had gotten into conversation with a man in his fifties with a warm expression and callused hands. He nudged Jim. “This is Bill Lee. He used to be the groundskeeper for this house until he got a chance to leave for greener pastures.”

“That’s an oversimplification,” Bill said, clapping Ned on the shoulder. “Now this gentleman is Alexander’s brother?”

“Yes, sir,” Jim said. He held back his urge to immediately start asking about how much their time here had overlapped and what Alexander had been like.

“Well, I’ll be…”

Then Payne returned with a tray. Three drinks and a cocktail napkin for each. “Mint lemonade, Cherry Bounce, and ice water.”

“Thank you, young man. It’s nice having someone waiting on me in this house for a change.” Bill winked and wrapped his cocktail napkin into a sort of toga for his glass before taking it.

“What are you raising money for?” Jim asked as he took his drink. It had actual fresh mint leaf shreds in it. He didn’t take the napkin because he didn’t know what to do with it.

Payne handed the Cherry Bounce and a napkin to Ned. “I just turned nine, and the other Boy Scouts are doing fundraisers but they aren’t doing mine. Dad died of yellow fever when there was an epidemic where he had business, and my stepdad has family in Nigeria, so I’m raising money to help stop yellow fever in Nigeria.”

“That’s lovely,” Jim said. “Well, not the part with your dad. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. I was very little, and Jemmy is a good stepdad,” Payne said, insistently draping Jim’s napkin on his forearm. He hugged the tray to his chest. “Wave me or the down if you want refills or me to take your glasses away. Please put your napkin between your glass and any surface you put it on.”

Martha (Custis) Washington approached them as soon as Payne had scuttled off to play waiter some more. “Jim, it’s such a pleasure to have you here. May I hug you?”

“Sure,” Jim said softly, and when she did, he wondered how it must have felt for Alexander the first time. If he’d felt home at last. He could believe it.

“Ned, you’ve been on your feet all day, haven’t you? I can take care of our special guest if here if you like.”

Jim nodded at Ned, and Ned wandered off with Bill. Martha glided and he followed in her wake. “Is the Cherry Bounce really your invention?”

“It’s my variation of an existing recipe. Don’t worry, I know you don’t drink. I try to always have a special nonalcoholic beverage as well. This is Philip Schuyler, George’s friend for many years. Phil, this is Jim Hamilton.”

Philip Schuyler, who looked remarkably like a male version of Peggy, shook Jim’s hand. “It took Alexander and Eliza surprisingly long to even know of each other, considering, and I only learned about you a few days ago. You have his nose.”

“I used to steal it, so that makes sense,” Jim replied. Martha and Philip both laughed.

***

“Why the Catherine Schuyler, Junior, if that’s not rude to ask?” Jim asked when Martha took him to both Catherines. The younger one’s jawline and hands still spoke of the recentness of the name change, and Jim was trying not to stare. “As one Junior to another. It’s a mixed blessing, you know.”

“I see you have some of Alexander’s dry wit. I asked Mom what she and Dad were thinking of when I wasn’t born yet…”

“...And I said either Camden or after me,” said Catherine Senior, putting a loving arm around her child’s waist.

Eliza blew a kiss at all three of them as she went past, one arm linked with her best non-blood-related friend Betsy Fry’s.

***

Patsy Custis had a service dog, a Lab with unusually pale yellow fur so that he looked white from a certain angle. It contrasted starkly with his black vest and harness. He was sitting by her feet and calmly inspecting Jim as if to weigh his character.

“Jim, Nelson, Nelson, Jim,” Patsy said jokingly after her mother introduced her to Jim. “Hey, Mom, can I borrow you for a sec?”

“I think I’ve built up enough momentum to keep meeting and greeting,” Jim said.

“I’d love to talk to you more soon,” Patsy said. “All these years and Alexander’s only ever given us infuriating little scraps. If you want to meet my brother, he’s over with Mr. von Steuben comparing the Marines to various other countries’ elite soldiers. Jacky’s going to be leaving us soon, but thankfully just to be in charge of guarding a U.S. embassy, not kill people.”

***

The Custis brother was as good a place to start as any, so Jim made his way to the corner where a man with the tellingly short hair was leaning against the wall and listening to an older man go on about the glory days of the Prussians.

He wasn’t the only one listening. Pierre had grabbed a wooden stool from somewhere else and was sitting on it with a Sprite in hand, hanging on presumably-Friedrich’s every word. Sometimes Friedrich would make an odd gesture that had nothing to do with what he was saying, and sometimes he would whisper something too quietly for Jim to hear before continuing with his sentence.

“...But I see I’m excluding our newcomer,” Friedrich said eventually.

“This is really interesting, so I didn’t want to interrupt,” Jim said.

Pierre pointed at Jim and said in a thrilled stage whisper, “This is Jim Hamilton! Alexander has a brother! He’s had one all this time!”

“Interesting. Welcome to this band of both misfits and fitfits. Friedrich von Steuben, at your service.” He gave a small bow.

The leaner stopped leaning. “Heyyyyy, the man, the myth, the legend. John Custis, friends call me Jack, family calls me Jacky. I want you to call me Jacky.”

“Nice to meet you then, Jacky.”

As he got swept up in a new conversation, Jim noticed Pierre tugging Friedrich’s sleeve and whispering, _”Chev can’t make it to the party, but thankfully they’re okay after all...”_

He wondered who Chev was with, and why running errands made Pierre sound so worried.

***

When looking for Alexander himself, Jim turned a corner and ran into Peggy and presumably-Sybil kissing each other. “Um.”

“Um.” Peggy was also frozen. Sybil just raised an eyebrow. Her hair was as short as Jacky’s, making the expression more pronounced.

“Music’s pretty good,” Jim said, desperately. It was. Plus it was loud enough so that he could pick out lyrics if he wished, but soft enough that he could ignore it in favor of listening to people.

“Yeah,” Peggy said.

“Who is this?” Sybil asked.

“Alexander’s brother.”

Sybil pried Peggy’s nervous death-grip off her and clinked her glass of Cherry Bounce off Jim’s mint lemonade. “Kudos to having a cool if overdramatic brother, buddy. I knew his whole ‘I grew up buck wild’ shtick was an affectation. What’s your name?”

“Jim. Hamilton. Um. Obviously.”

“Sybil Ludington. What do you do when you’re not being Alexander Hamilton’s secret bro?”

“I own a carpentry shop.”

“Sweet. I’m a riding instructor. Horseback riding. See, Pegs, this at least appears to be a man of honor. You’ll have to excuse us, Jim, we only just now dealt with Patrick Henry being rather indelicate.” She squeezed Peggy’s hand. “Dude pregamed a bit before trying the house cocktail, I bet. I told him what I thought about ogling and wolf-whistling, then I sicced John Church on him. Now he’s hearing alllll about the history of thumbtacks.”

“My dad demanded time to play with his grandkids,” Peggy said, looking more relaxed now. “We didn’t just leave them in the room where it happens.”

***

John Laurens was talking to a woman who did not look entirely unlike him, and a man about ten years older, when he turned to wave at Jim. When Jim was close enough, John said, “Angelica’s giving me a death glare from the dining room because I promised I’d confer with her about something approximately forty minutes ago, but this is my sister Martha and her fiance Ramzi, okay? Guys, this is is Jim Hamilton. He’s pretty great.”

Martha Laurens shooed her brother away. “Go, go, keeping Angelica waiting is redefining bravery. Not in a good way.

Ramzi had the thickest glasses Jim had ever seen. His handshake was gentle. “I know what it’s like to have family far away, where you cannot see them regularly. Glad to meet you.”

“Did you know I existed? I’ve noticed a trend.”

“I didn’t, but to be fair, I didn’t know there was a linen closet on the first floor of my house until Missy moved in a few months ago.”

“I wasn’t sure how far to spread the word. You can call me Missy too, if you like. That’s for family.”

That soothed the irrational sting. “So you two are engaged as well?”

“We’re waiting until the youngest of Ramzi’s children has finished her first year of middle school, so that none of them are dealing with a new school and a stepmother at the same time,” Missy said, affectionately bumping her head against his shoulder like a baby goat. “Plus it’ll be really, really funny when my dad realizes that against all odds, John got married before I did. Dad and John don't have the best relationship.”

“In other news, liquids are wet,” Ramzi said. He took a sip of his Coke as if to reinforce this.

“To your knowledge, how many people here did know I existed more than a few days ago?”

Missy took off her own, more typical glasses to wipe them. “Not a lot of people know about John and I having two younger brothers either. Though since Jamie came to visit us last Thanksgiving, that number has grown. It’s not because we don’t love them. It’s because there’s baggage associated with them.”

“As for mine, immigration law is more generous to doctors and such other useful people,” Ramzi said wistfully.

***

Angelica had become an almost mythic figure in Jim’s mind. She found him in a secluded nook when he was admiring some of the art on the walls. “Are you take a moment to collect yourself? If so, I’ll leave you to it.”

“No, I’m fine.” Jim faltered. He knew that Angelica had been Alexander’s therapist when she was inpatient, and the idea that she was the exact opposite of the others here - that she might know far, far more about Alexander’s feelings regarding Jim then Jim himself - that created a pileup in his mind and mouth.

In that moment of silence between him and Angelica, he was able to hear the words of the current song on the playlist.

_We were tight-knit boys, brothers in more than name_  
_You would kill for me, and knew that I’d do the same_  
_And it cut me sharp to know that you’d gone away_  
_But everything goes away. Everything goes away…_

Angelica took one look at Jim’s face, then started towards the steps leading to the downstairs rec room. Jim followed. Why not?

“Hey!” Angelica exclaimed the moment she got down there. This was directed at a teenage girl sitting at a card table with a laptop plugged into various cables, likely the house’s sound system. It was the kind of house that would have one. She was the first person Jim had ever seen with both dark skin and frizzy auburn hair, which didn’t look dyed. She also had a bunch of textbooks and notebooks. Probably doing homework as well as tending the playlist. Or whatever that was called.

The girl took off her headphones. “What?”

“Did you look up the lyrics to the song you’re playing right now?”

“I skimmed ‘em. You said nice songs about family. It sounds pretty. It’s about brothers and stuff.”

“This is a bittersweet song about estranged brothers,” Angelica said. Not angrily, but firmly.

“Okay? Sorry? I guess?”

Angelica said, “What if it was ‘What Sarah Said’ by Death Cab for Cutie? And your dad were here?”

The girl bit her lip. “Oh.” She skipped to the next one.

“Googling the lyrics is probably easy,” Jim said. “Maybe do that for the rest of the songs, if you’re worried. Are you raising money like Payne is?”

“No, I’m doing this for free. I want to be a DJ and Aunt Angelica told my dad that I could practice at this party, and that if it goes well I can do the music for the reception, too.” The girl took the laptop back. “Good save, thanks. It’s hard enough convincing Mr. Hamilton that everything I do isn’t part of some evil sitcom-y plot. Ooooooh the Jeffersons are coming for the Hamiltons, ooooooh!”

“You’re Thomas Jefferson’s daughter?” Jim asked, wanting to laugh. It got rid of the tightness in his chest.

“Yeah, I’m Martha Junior. Or Patsy.”

“I’m James Hamilton Junior. Or Jim. Hi.”

She gaped slightly. “Crap. I’ve never heard of you. I get it now. Mr. Hamilton’s going to pitch a fit. It was an accident. Seriously.”

“I’m sure it was. Don’t worry. What I’ve been told makes it sound like your father and my brother find each other incredibly annoying but also have grudging respect for each other, and you’ve got no beef with me, so. As one Junior to another. I can’t believe that’s the second time I’ve said that before dinner started.” Jim realized he’d forgotten his drink. It had been nearly finished anyway.

“I think you’re fine as long as you don’t play ‘Gun Shy’ by 10,000 Maniacs and make the Laurens siblings cry,” Angelica said, with a wry twist to her mouth. “Alexander would never, ever, ever forgive that. You and Payne are definitely sleeping here tonight, right?”

“There’s a lot of rooms, and Mrs. Washington is very nice.” Patsy Jefferson made a face. “I wish my dad would stop spending weekends in the countryside with Payne’s parents. It’s really weird. I don’t even mind saying that with Mr. Jim Hamilton here, because everybody knows, and it’s weird but they won’t stop. I love my dad. And I hate my dad.”

“Within reason, that’s very normal for a teenager,” Angelica said. “I’ll make sure someone lets you know when dinner is served. You really could eat with us, you know.”

“It’s fine. Payne and I are going to eat down here and watch stuff his parents won’t let him until he goes to help with cleanup.”

“I didn’t hear that.”

“How are you friends with Thomas Jefferson and also Alexander’s sister-in-law soon?” Jim asked on their way to rejoin the main crowd.

“Lafayette is friends with both of them, too,” Angelica said.

“Who isn’t Lafayette friends with?”

“You could ask him. Let’s talk about you.”

Jim gulped.

***

Wonder of wonders, it looked like Betsy Fry was the one going on and on about prison reform to John Church, whose eyes were darting around asking passers-by for help.

“I’m Patrick, I know you’re Jim, and Alexander sent me to tell you there’s going to be food in about two minutes so go wash your hands, which apparently you forgot to do all the time when you were a kid,” said the man Betsy had rescued. He was wearing a faded Occupy Wall Street t-shirt with a sports jacket and rumpled necktie. “You know, I was his roommate for years and I never heard -”

“Yes, yes, I’m Sasquatch. Thanks.”

“Until this visit, I thought Eliza, Angelica, and Peggy had no brothers,” Adrienne said, having suddenly appeared by Jim’s side. “I now know that Angelica had a childhood grudge against them.”

“What kind of grudge?”

“That is her business to tell you.”

Rubbing his temples, Patrick muttered, “Give me aspirin or give me death. Excuse me.”

“Gilbert says that Patrick can be good company,” Adrienne said once Patrick was out of earshot. “Can. I believe he is the companion of Alexander’s belligerent side, and it is good for him to have one.”

“Who _isn’t_ your husband friends with?”

Adrienne clasped her hands in front of her. “His enemies. It would surprise you.”

***

Jim went to sit on one of the chairs on the veranda, balancing his plate on his lap. He put a glass of water on the floor next to him. There was nobody else. Likely because of the mosquitoes.

“May I join you?” asked a voice.

Jim had to crane his neck up to look at his face. “If...if you want, Mr. Washington.”

“Please, it’s George.” The man’s plate was heaped full. He dragged over a small table from the far end.

“May I share?” At the nod, Jim placed his plate

George Washington was the only person here in a full suit, but he didn’t have a problem not dripping food on himself. Jim always worried about that during wedding receptions and wakes. Usually he only wore suits for church. “I didn’t have lunch, so excuse me if I seem overly focused on eating.”

“What were you doing?”

“Special consultation. I owed Friedrich a favor and he owed someone else a favor. Someone who has trouble trusting psychiatrists.”

For a few minutes, things were quiet.

Then Jim asked, “Why are you out here with me?”

“We didn’t get to talk earlier.”

“I wasn’t snubbing you. It’s like with Alexander and Eliza having everyone wanting to talk to them.”

George sawed through an unusually tough piece of meat. “You had a chance to talk to them earlier, however, and I tend to be a busy man during these events. All these people.”

“Next to you, they all look small.” Jim groaned. “That sounded weird.”

“I see what you mean. I imagine you’ve probably thought about meeting me for awhile, now. My history with Alexander is complicated. Your perception of me would likely follow.”

“He loves you a lot.”

George smiled. It changed the entire shape of his face. “I know, but it’s always nice to hear. The rejection of your dad and the loss of your cousin Peter didn’t make it easy for him. Two key father figures already taken away. I understood that.”

“I heard that your wife compared him to a stray cat.”

“She did. I knew it was a lot to ask to leave behind the world he knew.” George turned to look at Jim directly. “This couldn’t have been the most straightforward experience.”

“No.” Jim didn’t want to go too niche, but he couldn’t think of a better analogy: “I feel like the brother of Jared.”

“Oh?”

“In the Book of Mormon, there’s a prominent figure named Jared. His brother is also very important. He’s always referred to as the brother of Jared. The entire thing. He is never called anything else at all. Much later, Joseph Smith had a revelation that the brother of Jared was actually named Mahonri Moriancumer. Which doesn’t roll off the tongue, but it’s still weird that a lot of LDS people who otherwise have a strong knowledge of the scriptures wouldn’t be able tell you that off the top of their head.”

“Mm,” George said. He dabbed out his mouth with a napkin, larger than the ones from earlier.

Jim had trouble stopping. “John and Martha Laurens don’t talk about their brothers much because they have a bad relationship with their father and it’s tainted things. Angelica doesn’t talk about her brothers much because of some unspecified petty thing. Where does that put me? Am I overthinking this?”

George somehow swatted a mosquito with dignity. “We should turn on the zappers. In any case, Jim, don’t assume it’s a matter of love.”

“Okay,” Jim said in a small voice.

“I don’t talk about my brother much, either.”

“You have one?”

“Had.”

“Oh.”

“Lawrence. My older brother. You don’t need to feel sad for me. That’s long-healed. There’s no pain.” George gestured at the increasingly indigo dusk. “But Lawrence has become a part of myself that I don’t often have time to share. If I bring up Lawrence, he brings with him the boy who wasn’t a very good student, who relied heavily on tutors. He comes with a set of braces that I wore for years. He comes with my very excellent mother also being...rather stern, in a way that a boy could find intimidating. He comes with me being foolish, and also with me being wise in ways that I may not be again. He comes with a home that is no longer mine. He comes with a face that has changed. He comes with all these things without having the decency to carry them with me. And the less I mention him, the larger his shadow grows, and the more difficult it is to speak of him.”

“Huh.”

“But if you think for one moment I wouldn’t welcome him back gladly - other than having questions about the logistics, I suppose - you’d be wrong.”

More time passed. More silent eating.

“You had braces?” Jim asked.

“I had the most terrible teeth, you have no idea. Hippo teeth, the other kids said.”

Jim stifled a snicker. “Better than dentures.”

“Don’t jinx it. Please don’t jinx it.”

Jim actually snickered then. George didn’t seem to mind.

The evening star was out now. There wouldn’t be as many stars as at Jim’s house, part of a smaller community and in the thinner mountain atmosphere, but a few would come all the same. “Thank you for taking in Alexander. I know he had a hard time of it after we were separated, and I know he wasn’t an easy kid to deal with.”

“I know that I’ve likely committed many errors,” George said, his hands gone still. “But granting my friend’s request to at least talk to a certain ‘difficult kid’ wasn’t one of them. My world would never be the same.”

“You sound like my pop,” Jim said, his hands similarly suspended, though still gripping a fork. “I got legally adopted, but I wanted to keep my name. He and Mom said okay. You did the same, in your way, when he asked to stay fostered and not adopted. And you got him to get help by not pushing too hard. You didn’t make him do anything, and so you...you led him to everything.”

“You’re putting me on a pedestal, Jim.”

“Nah, I’ll never forget the hippo teeth thing.” Jim grinned.

Alexander barged in soon after, and insisted on both of them trying two kinds of pie and one cupcake. “I gotta go. Friedrich might start yelling at poor Patsy Jefferson for playing ‘Papaoutai’ and upsetting Pierre _and_ Lafayette _and_ Adrienne. All our French guests have father-related sads, so she got them all in one fell swoop. Which is really impressive. Girl needs to read translations. Friedrich’s a less scary now that his new therapist’s taught him how to whisper his verbal tics rather than shout them, but he’s still really scary when he’s defending his own. Angelica’s talking him down, but if I let Thomas’ precious girl come to emotional trauma I will never hear the end of it. When I get back, Jim, you and I are planning hours and hours of time just between the two of us tomorrow, yeah? Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Cherry Bounce was the name of an actual punch served to guests at Mount Vernon.
> 
> \- John William Payne Todd's biological father, Dolley Madison's first husband, died of yellow fever. Actor Okierete Onaodowan is of recent Nigerian heritage. Yellow fever is an endemic problem in Nigeria.
> 
> \- William "Billy" Lee was Washington's personal attendant throughout the war, and the only one of Washington's slaves emancipated during Washington's lifetime. It is highly plausible that the Gay Trio met him, and possible that Baron von Steuben and Pierre Etienne du Ponceau might have.
> 
> \- Patsy Custis' service dog is named after Washington's famous white war horse Nelson.
> 
> \- "What Sarah Said" by Death Cab for Cutie is about watching loved ones die in the hospital. Martha Jefferson Sr. and all her children except one died young of illness. 
> 
> \- "Gun Shy" by 10,000 Maniacs is from the perspective of a sister who is unhappy about her brother joining the army. Contains such lines as, "I always knew you'd take yourself far from home" and "promise me that you won't meet it with your gun" and "they're so good at making soldiers, but they're not so good at making men".
> 
> \- "Papaoutai" by the Belgian musician Stromae is titled after the question "Papa où t'es?"/"Papa, where are you?" Pierre's father is far away and the relationship is tense, Lafayette's father is dead, and Adrienne's is sick.
> 
> I will leave the other references for you to find on your own, though feel free to ask.


	7. Meng Xianchen and Meng Xianyu

Alexander took Jim to the National Mall, and they walked. And they talked. And talked. And talked. They found someone selling Italian ices and bought one each. And walked. And talked. At one point they made their way to the Vietnam Memorial and tried to find a few names of Jim’s in-laws for him to take pictures of.

“I like that this one isn’t glorious, and it pays tribute to the ones you wouldn’t hear about otherwise,” Alexander said.

“Yeah.”

“Wanna go in any of the museums?”

“Nah.”

He looked back in the direction of the Tidal Basin, ringed with cherry blossom trees that were unfortunately not ready to bloom yet. “That’s cool. Let’s just keep going around the big serious fake pond with tall rocks around it.”

Jim laughed. 

They met up with John for lunch near his office. “Me popping back in for a day is better than nothing. It’s mostly been sorting and answering mail, watering the plants, dusting, counting the spiders that we’ve agreed not to kill but don’t want to multiply past a certain point...”

“When’s Sad Nature Guy coming back from his tour?” Alexander turned and poked at an entree on Jim’s menu. “Get that. That’s good.” 

John stretched and simultaneously waved down a server. “Four days. Let’s talk about you. What are you doing after this?”

***

It was one of those cheaper, flat gravestones, and very small. He’d actually been cremated, and the box buried. He’d never taken up much space in life, and he didn’t in death. 

_PETER LYTTON_ the stone said in simple letters.

Jim knelt down and traced the birth and death dates. “He was younger than we are now, Alejo.”

“ _Si._ ” Alexander handed Jim the bouquet of white carnations. 

“I’d forgotten.” Jim placed the bouquet so that it wouldn’t obscure the inscription. 

Peter’s will had asked that as little money as possible be spent on the funeral, but if someone insisted on getting him a plaque or something, he said he wanted: _A beat without a melody._

“I’ve spent a long time trying to figure out what he meant by that,” Alexander said quietly.

“Do you come here often?”

“No. It’s because I don’t like seeing the neighborhood again, not because I dislike him. Or dislove him. Is that a word?” Alexander sat down on the prickly grass. “He loved us. It’s not a matter of loving someone ‘enough’. I’ve gotten really low before, myself, and it wasn’t love alone that got me through. I don’t think it could have.”

“I’m sorry again that I got him posthumously baptized by proxy without consulting you first.” This had been the topic of a huge fight six years ago.

Alexander sighed. “Apology accepted. I don’t feel like rehashing that business. I know you don’t believe he has to ‘embrace’ it and you just wanted his soul to have, like, options. And I’ve said what I have to say about insensitivity and stuff.”

“You never said why you were less angry about when I did that for Mama - which, again, sorry, should have consulted you.”

“Because Peter was a victim in a way she wasn’t,” Alexander said. After a moment he put a hand on the gravestone. “Sorry to fight in front of you, especially the first time Jim’s been back.”

“We’re both doing alright,” Jim said, a lump in his throat. 

“It...it would, um, be nice to have you here…you’d like Eliza...and my little Flimflam, you’d...I bet you’d...”

The hand on the stone was shaking. Jim pulled Alexander into a hug. “I think he’d like all your friends and family now.”

Alexander took deep breaths and squeezed tight. “You sure?”

“I like them.”

“Maybe he’d be overwhelmed.”

“I’m kinda overwhelmed, but I still like them.”

“Heh.” Alexander wouldn’t let Jim exit the hug just yet. “The Stevens invited me to go back with them once, and I said I didn’t want to without you. But every time Ned’s gone back to the island, he’s visited her grave for me.”

Jim would thank Ned later. “That’s good of him. How about Thomas Stevens?”

“I don’t know. Seems awkward to ask.”

“Let me know when you want to stop hugging.”

“Mm. It might be another minute or so.”

“Okay.”

***

It was actually Jim’s request to go take a look at Vernon Psychiatric Crisis Center, since it was so pivotal in Alexander’s life and those of several people he knew. So Alexander drove him.

“It’s so close to the Potomac,” Jim said along the way. “I knew it was close, but the river is seriously right there.”

“Uh huh. It used to be a plantation mansion and everything, so it needs a nice location. I hope I don’t hit that stupid pothole they never get around to fixing. Though I’d rather they spend money on patients than potholes.” Then they made a turn, and Alexander gestured. “Et voila.”  
“Wow.” Wide and white and brick, with trees. And history. 

“We can’t go on the grounds under our current statuses, but we can slowly drive past and wave at it.”

“Can we wave like the Queen of England?”

Alexander rolled down the windows. “Can we? Can we, he asks? I would have to disown you if you refused to.”

“What if someone stares at us?”

“I know all their names. The night janitor who does our ward has the best name of all time, by the way: Button Gwinnett. I almost managed to convince Eliza to let me invite him just so I could introduce him to people, but she said I shouldn’t treat him like a circus sideshow.”

Jim started the very proper curved wave. “You could always introduce Lafayette by his full name.”

“Lafayette already knows everybody.”

***

“Are you sure it’s okay with you that I’m ditching you for dinner with Thom?” Alexander asked as he was parking in front of John and Ned’s apartment building.

“It’s fine. He lives even farther and couldn’t get here until last night and he’s important to you. Isn’t this your only chance to catch up with him in person?”

“Other than the reception, yeah. Even if Eliza and I weren’t going on our getaway, he and Liz both have to go back to work.” Alexander got out of the car. Jim did likewise. “Have you heard of Meng Xianchen and Meng Xianyu?”

“Can’t say I have.” The sun was low on the horizon, but there was still plenty of light. 

“They’re brothers - I think they’re still alive - who were working in an illegal Chinese coal mine, which collapsed. Everyone thought they were dead. But they dug their way out with their bare hands over several days. Drank urine for their thirst and ate coal for their hunger.”

“My word.”

Alexander went to Jim’s side and patted his arm. “I know the Ned phenomenon is weird, no matter how much you’ve taken to him and appreciate him. But you and I are the Mengs, okay? You were the one beside me when my world caved in.”

“I like that,” Jim said. “So are you meeting Thom here, or what?”

“Yes. He’s friends with John, too, so they were catching up. By the way, his nickname for me is Unicorn, right? And for Ned it’s Zebra. So you’ve become Pony. Hope that’s okay.”

Jim laughed. “That’s fine. Is that him over there?”

The young man approaching them waved, then started signing. Alexander started signing. Hugely. Like he was waving in traffic. In Jim’s understanding, that was the equivalent of yelling. Alexander took a few steps forward. Thom ran the rest of the way.

And...pulled Alexander into an almost violent kiss. Alexander looked at Jim and blushed. He stepped away, pointed at Jim, and signed. Thom put his hands over his mouth. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jim said. He knew they had a history, had known for two years and had time to get over the confusion and distaste when he saw it not destroying his brother's life, but he assumed they’d both ended the affair when Thom got married. “You two do your thing. I guess.”

Alexander relayed what Jim had said. Thom hadn’t been looking right at him when Jim spoke. Thom fetched his phone from his pocket and quickly typed text-to-speech. **I got excited. Did not mean to be rude. I was hoping to make a less outlandish impression.**

“He lives an outlandish life, so I see where you fit in,” Jim said. And while he wasn’t at ease and he wanted to mosey his way on out of there, he wasn’t lying either.


	8. George and Ira Gershwin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the people at the party two chapters ago hadn't appeared in the series before, but now we have a huge heaping of throwbacks. It's written with the intent so that people who haven't read previous stories can still enjoy, you'll just miss some in-jokes.
> 
> (It might be helpful to know that Sam has problems with paranoia, but by this point he knows he has a problem and is willingly under treatment. Also that this has been used against him and he got hurt.)
> 
> Eliza isn't working in the Men's First Floor Ward anymore, but she's still close with them and they all want to see how Alexander's doing. Her coworkers from Adolescent First Floor Ward have less interest in coming over and talking to Jim. Alexander did spend time in the adolescent ward, but that was a long time ago and people have moved on. Paul Revere is a symbolic AFFW nurse.

Jim was embarrassed to need help putting on cufflinks, but John just said, “Arms out.”

“Aren’t you in a hurry?” Jim asked.

“You said these are your cousin Peter’s cufflinks that he inherited from your great-grandfather. That’s very important. It’ll be nice for Alexander to have a reminder of that side of the family.”

Ned crept up and started helping John with his bowtie. They were all in the bathroom with the door open. They two of them had already gotten up earlier and had breakfast. Jim still needed to eat.

“Thank you so much. I knew you’d be better at clothes than me.” Then Jim realized that might sound like him stereotyping John, a contender for Alexander's favorite not-Eliza. "What I mean is, because I only ever wear suits for church and I know you used to be part of Charleston high society.”

“By association,” John said, but he smiled. “Missy hated it way more than I did. I was resigned to it. Henry Junior loved it. Jamie was exempt.”

Ned took a jar of hair gel out of a drawer to tame some of his stray locks. “I maintain that you should let your hair down for this, dear, it makes you look like a poet. ”

“It also makes me look about nineteen,” John said, grabbing his own set of cufflinks. They looked like tiny silver willow trees. Last night Jim had accidentally glimpsed that Ned had a weeping willow tattooed between his shoulderblades.

And Ned’s cufflinks looked like tiny golden turtles. Wow. 

“Whatever makes you feel comfortable in your own skin. Do you need any more help, Jim?”

“I think I’m okay. I’m just wearing a regular necktie, and I’m fine with those. Wore one all day six days a week for two years.” 

Ned leaned in to inspect the black and white necktie Jim had draped on a towel rack. “Tiny unicorns. Alexander used to doodle those in his notebooks.”

“You mean he didn’t stop after elementary school?” And there was a look of warm recognition between them.

“We are a symbolically accessorized group of brothers, apparently. If you don’t mind me considering myself that, Jim.” John started putting on his vest. “By association.”

“It’s only fair,” Jim said, after a pause. He looked at the small clock resting on the sink. “Don’t you need to go pick up Pierre and Lafayette in two minutes?”

“Sh-shoot,” John said. He glanced at the member of the trio who didn’t like profanity. Jim appreciated the gesture.

“I can help you with the rest,” Ned said, finishing with his gel. He was already dressed except for his shoes.

John snorted fondly. “Yeah, yeah, you’re just looking for excuses.”

This was getting a bit intimate for Jim, so he slipped over to the kitchen to pour himself some cereal. He was keyed up for the event and not being hungry would help keep his cool. He reviewed the game plan in his mind. The church had very little parking, so there was a lot of carpooling going on. 

Patrick was the only member of the groom’s party not going in John and Ned’s car, so they wouldn’t all be squished, and also because he knew Thom and Liz well from Columbia and was a good choice to drive them. Thom could only drive modified cars with extra-wide mirrors and Liz hated driving. London was a good overseas post for them, with its excellent public transport. Meanwhile, Angelica had a minivan and was transporting Eliza and her bridesmaids. George and Martha Washington and Philip and Catherine Schuyler Senior were going together out of their long friendship, in their roles as parents of the couple, and to make sure their toasts wouldn’t overlap too much.

Jim waved to John and Ned as they dashed out the door. And waved to John again when he dashed back inside to grab what looked like a stuffed manatee doll. “In case anyone gets a panic attack! The manatee does not judge!”

He didn’t have the apartment to himself long before he got a phone call. “This is Ramzi, right?”

“It is. Sam and I will be there shortly. Red Toyota, bumper sticker says TRUST ME, I’M THE DOCTOR.”

“Who’s Sam?”

“You’ll find out shortly.”

So Jim finished putting himself together and made sure to turn all the lights off and lock the door behind him. They’d given him a spare key, so it was alright if he needed to dash back in later. He went to wait just outside the building. 

The car Ramzi had described pulled up about a minute later, and Jim got into the backseat. Ramzi was actually in the passenger seat, and wearing big sunglasses that fit over his normal glasses, like safety goggles. He twisted around and said, “Good morning, Jim. Sam’s agreed to drive us there.”

Sam was an elfin sunbeam of a man in a suit that was slightly too big for him, and he looked over his shoulder long enough to flash Jim a smile. He started their way back onto the road. “It’s nice to meet you, James Hamilton. I wish you hadn’t gotten a car with manual transmission, though, Dr. David.”

“If you keep calling me Dr. David, I’m going to call you Reverend Seabury.”

“How about Doc Ramzi and Rev Sam?”

“Sounds like a pair of sitcom protagonists.”

Sam laughed. “There are worse things.”

“I got the manual transmission because I liked the tactile feedback,” Ramzi said wistfully.

“This is your car?” Jim asked. The bumper sticker made more sense if so. 

“Yes. As of five months ago I’m no longer allowed to drive. The blur in the center of my visual field got too big, both eyes. It's functioning as a spare car right now, though in a few years I might give it to one of my kids if I can get my ex-wife to agree."

Jim had thought that Ramzi just needed those thick glasses to get to 20/20. Knowing that he needed them just to get to “not good enough to drive” gave him new respect for the man and what he had to overcome. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m grateful I had good eyesight all through med school and many subsequent years. I’ve learned compensating techniques. Peripheral vision, medications that slow the progress, guarding against damage from UV light. It is what it is. Vernon took a chance on me.” Ramzi looked out the window. “What a beautiful spring day.”

Sam scanned the horizon. “It is. You know, Jim...may I call you Jim?”

“Everyone does.”

“I have a brother who moved to Canada years ago, and when I went to his wedding, it was overwhelming. All those people important to him whom I didn’t know. All those reminders that I am barely part of the man he is now. If you feel that way and you’d like to talk about it...you have the option of talking to someone with a similar experience. If you wish.” 

“That’s really nice of you,” Jim said sincerely. “What denomination are you, if I may ask?”

“Episcopalian, but in my current line of work I provide support to people of many denominations. Including some who don’t necessarily consider themselves Christian.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a prison chaplain. Oh, look, that tree’s in bloom. How lovely.”

Move over, Ramzi, because Jim’s respect for Sam about tripled. “And you were overwhelmed by your brother’s wedding?”

“The inmates, on the whole, are rewarding to work with.”

“There was that time some of them tried to take you hostage during a riot,” Ramzi said. "Don't you worry about any of them being out to get you?"

“Yes, but several others protected me. I worry about many people and several organizations being out to get me. There are times I worry about sparrows having itty bitty spy cameras inside their heads. I can't let it control my life. Weren’t you badly injured by a patient once? In the psych ward where you worked in their medical wing before you came to Vernon? Didn't you tell everyone not to blame him?”

“Let’s not talk about that.”

“Let’s not, then. You know, this is the first wedding I’ve been invited to in years as a guest and not an officiant? It’ll be fun hearing the vows from the audience for a change."

***

“Alexander Hamilton, when we first met, you were at a difficult time in your life, you were fighting battles that I could only support from the outside. You’ve won so many. I look into your eyes and the sky’s the limit. I am _ridiculously_ enamored with you. You more than proved that you deserved to meet your son. You have been a good father, and a good partner, and I know that you are the man I want as my husband. Let me be a part of your narrative. Let this be the first chapter where we decide to stay, and that will be enough.”

Eliza looked at him like she just might have to burst into song. Alexander squeezed Eliza’s hands tightly. 

“Elizabeth Schuyler, I don’t have much to offer in money, property, or reputation. I have my honor, my willingness to push through pain and sorrow, a bit of an education, and whatever amount of intelligence that has gotten me this far. I’ll leave it to your judgment if that’s a reasonable trade. It’s not just you, even, that knowing you has given me. The circumstances that brought us together have expanded my family beyond what I ever thought I’d have. Not just Phillip, and not just your wonderful blood relatives. It’s the people who’ve grown around us, as well, these friends and these more than friends. My love for you is never in doubt. Whatever happens, we’re going to figure it out. I know I don’t deserve you. I’ll do whatever it takes. For you, and our child, and any other children we might have, and everyone whom you’ve directly or indirectly brought into my world. I’ll make a million mistakes. But if I can make you smile, that will be enough. You’re already best of women. I know you’ll be best of wives.”

By this point Peggy was sniffling, but when the minister declared the couple married, it was Lafayette who started visibly weeping with love and joy into his elegantly lace-trimmed handkerchief.

***

The reception wasn’t far from there. Thom informed Jim that it was buffet style with free seating because both the bride and groom found it too stressful to try to figure out set seating. It was an early dinner, but that was the time slot available. Plus some people needed to drive home a ways. Non-dancers were welcome to keep eating during the dancing. 

“Hercules Mulligan,” a large, loud, boisterous man said when he walked up to Jim with an outstretched hand. “Did alterations on the best man’s and all the groomsmen’s tuxes at a discount in exchange for a guaranteed prime parking space, choice of two songs as part of dance playlist, and first dibs on cake for me and my wife. I hear you’re the elusive other Hamilton.”

“So I am,” Jim said, finding himself not minding. “Do you know what this music is? It’s nice. The lyrics are faint.”

“George and Ira Gershwin,” said Patsy Jefferson as she walked by, a stack of tiny sandwiches cupped in one hand. “The Schuylers really like old musicals, so I picked a bunch of mellow old Broadway tunes for dinner. I’ll go sit by my station, switch playlists, and crank it up when it comes to dancing.”

“I hadn’t heard about Ira,” Jim said.

“He co-wrote a lot of the hits, according to Wikipedia. A lot of the food is mini, Mr. Mulligan, I know you dig that.”

“People be spreading rumors about me,” Hercules Mulligan (what a great name) said, with mock outrage. 

“Thanks but no thanks for making dad that purple velvet suit in an 18th-century cut, by the way, like he wasn’t weird enough already,” Patsy grimaced and went on her way.

Hercules shrugged. “That man has an outlandish aesthetic and a lotta money. So...when your brother was little, was he really, really bad at staying in bed all night? Walk with me to the food, because this is a vital question. I got his permission to discuss the matter with you. I used to be THE night shift nurse before my hobby became my job, know what I’m saying? I had Alexander in loco parentis for weeks…”

***

Jim started eating at a currently-empty table so he could catch a breather, and in order to observe the goings-on. 

Sam was in a corner talking to a thirty-something woman in a blue and cream dress. Jim could just about hear him saying: “You don’t need to worry, Molly. The scars only hurt or itches in bad weather, or if I’m very stressed, or if I’ve had a dream about him, or if I take a bath that’s too hot, or if I get triggered. And I only get days where I'm seriously worried about the the lizard people in Congress or the CIA technomancers being after me about two or three times a month. I go to work anyway. On those days I figure the prisons are hard for all my enemies to get inside when I'm at work. So I’m fine. How’s your wife? I saw that Deb was up for some journalism award?” And Molly sighed and gave him the most delicate of hugs before answering.

There were servers walking around pouring champagne or sparkling cider, and a young man in what looked like colorful traditional West African dress approached one. “Pardon me, but my name is Cato. Myself and Phyllis writing a long poem in the guest book over there over there, and that extremely handsome brown-haired guy named Israel over there - all of us requested for at least some items to be guaranteed halal and/or kosher. But there’s been a mixup over which ones are, so could you check with the kitchen please? I tried to sneak back there myself but got caught…”

“THE FOUR DISHES ON THE RIGHT ARE GUARANTEED!” shouted presumably-Israel, waving around a large envelope. “I RAN INTO THE KITCHEN AND NOBODY HAD TIME OR GUMPTION TO STOP ME.”

Cata facepalmed. “I’m sorry, he likes to charge around yelling, though unlike Mr. Revere he’s less redundant about it.”

“I resemble that remark,” Revere said, going by with a plate and in the company of John Church. “So as I was saying, when working with silver it’s extremely important to have borax or boric acid at the ready. My booth at the weekend craft fair is extremely popular.”

“Are you going to pull a Mulligan and leave nursing?” John Church asked. He had absolutely no condiments or sauces on any of his food.

“Nah, I like a bit of excitement in my life.”

John Church shrugged, as if to say it took all sorts. “What about all the different types of hammers? Do you really need all of those?”

Suddenly, Israel appeared at Jim’s side. “Would you like a Hello My Name Is sticker? This envelope has dozens. And three felt-tip pens.” When Jim nodded, Israel put one in his hand, then placed a neat stack of extras in the center of the table.

“Are you secretly the Flash?” Jim couldn’t help asking.

“Israel Bissell is the best postal worker in the region. Seriously, I have a certificate. I go the extra mile.” Israel did finger pistols over his pun. 

“Give me one of those, please. Now.” 

Jim turned to see the new person who’d said that. He did a double-take.

The person was wearing a three-piece suit with tails. Were those high heels, or just a particular style of loafer? That shirt collar had a lot of ruffle to it, but that was a style for some eras. Chest looked pretty flat, but the cut of the shirt and the vest and jacket might be responsible...short hair...delicate bone structure….necktie...chunky masculine wristwatch…short fingernails…

“Sure thing, my friend.” Israel handed over a sticker and a pen.

The person sat down and held the pen like it was a dagger. Then looked up at Jim. “Oh, hi. Are you Jim? Pierre said you were very nice to him about his language-learning questions.”

“Yes?” He looked to Israel for guidance, but the man had vanished.

A moment later, the person put the sticker on the necktie, just below the knot. It said “Hello, my name is Chev. My pronouns are THEY/THEM.” In smaller letters underneath, it said, “deal with it”. Then they propped their elbows on the table and kneaded their temples.

“Oh, _you’re_ Chev.” Casting his mind back, Jim realized that he’d never heard Chev referred to as either ‘he’ or ‘she’. He’d only assumed ‘she’ because the majority of married men were married to people who use ‘she’, and Pierre's arrangements included Adrienne. 

“Pierre mentioned me?”

“Yes. Though I didn’t realize you were one of...those people.” Jim had educated himself when Alexander started unintentionally ambushing him with words like 'cisgender', so he wasn't completely blindsided, but he'd never met anyone who didn't like being called 'he' or 'she', and he hadn't even talked to anyone at church about how that should be viewed. He'd never heard about it in daily life, only as a slice of Alexander's, the sort of thing that happened in Alexander's world that Jim was only the smallest part of now. He'd never seen the First Presidency comment on the matter. Though he hadn't looked very hard. He wasn't sure what to type into the search box.

“Hm?” Chev looked at Jim’s face with a sort of polite blankness, and for about ten seconds Jim wanted to die.

“I didn’t mean it like that. Um. In a way that might sound insulting. That’s not what I meant it like. I’m sorry. It’s not my business. If you refused to call me Jim and wanted to call me...Mahroni Moriancumer...I’d be upset. Even if you weren’t used to calling people Jim, that’d be rude. To not call me Jim.” Where was Diplomat Mode Ned when Jim needed him?

“Mm. You’re better than the Schuyler Great Auntie I was just talking to, anyway. Friedrich is talking Pierre out of pitching a fit. When Friedrich is talking anyone out of pitching a fit, Pierre knows it’s serious.” Now Chev rubbed their entire face. “I don’t want to go back to that table. Would it be okay with you if I go get food and bring it back here? Pierre is having a lot of fun hanging out with Peggy, Sybil, Sally, and Phyllis in addition to Friedrich.”

Jim was nervous at the prospect of more foot-in-mouth, but he would feel like a jerk saying no. “If more people come, I’ll save your seat.”

“Thank you. No need to get heart palpitations. Imagine you accidentally said Adrienne's parents are from Togo. It might remind her of times that people were xenophobic about Senegalese-born people in France, but she'd know you have limited familiarity with Togo and think it was more funny than anything after the initial reaction. It's about that level, okay?"

Jim breathed easier. He really didn't want to create discord among Alexander's circle. "Okay."

***

A nice couple who introduced themselves as Aaron and Theodosia joined the table while Chev was gone, and urged him to go get food. When he was back, Chev was reminiscing with them about some fundraiser that had been for Theodosia’s benefit when she was about to have stomach surgery. 

Soon after that, a woman all in dark red, including her lipstick, arrived with a plate full of cocktail shrimp. “Hello, my name’s Maria, and I’m a cocktail shrimp-aholic,” she said, deadpan.

“Hello, my name’s Jim, and there are times when I try to live on carbohydrates and gloom,” Jim replied. She smiled at that.

There was a ting-ting-ting of a glass. Everyone looked at John, who was standing in the middle of the room. “If you just wandered in, I’m John Laurens, the Best Man. I’ve been coaxed into making the first toast of the evening. I will not be insulted if you keep eating while I talk because you don’t want your food to get cold or you’re hungry or something.”

A ripple of chuckles and giggles went through his audience.

John’s voice still projected, but it became soft in tone. “I met both Alexander and Eliza two days after the worst night of my life. Eliza offered me compassion. Alexander offered me companionship. They made that day, in the long term, one of the best days in my life. I’m not ready to tell the story of that night, but let’s have another round to that night anyway. Because it brought me them, and it brought me all of you. It freed me from weights I’d been carrying for much too long. Raise a glass to freedom.”

Everyone did, and drank. Hercules Mulligan also whooped.

Grinning, John pointed at Hercules and declared, “All right, all right! That’s what I’m talking about! Give it up for the Maid of Honor, Angelica Schuyler!”

Angelica took his place. She looked out at her audience like a natural leader. “Some of you know a story that’s been handed down in the Schuyler family for at least two hundred years. How much of it is accurate is hard to tell, but the story goes that there were a pair of Schuyler sisters who loved the same man. Because one loved her sister more than anything in this life, she chose her sister’s happiness every time. She was maid of honor at the wedding, and she sang a song to unselfishly bless her sister’s marriage even as her heart ached. Since then that song has become a symbol of how the love of your family is not lesser to the love between you and your spouse. Thankfully, in these modern times, Alexander has been dear to me in ways that do not make this any sort of sacrifice. This is about how much I love you both. If you know the call-and-response, feel free to join in. Eliza led this song at my wedding. It’s my turn.” 

The Schuyler-heavy tables, along with some of Angelica’s coworkers, knew both the responses and the harmonies.

“A toast to the groom!” She had a strong, beautiful voice.

_To the groom, to the groom._

“To the bride!”

_To the bride. To the br-i-i-i-de._

“From your sister, who is always by your side. To your union, and the hope that you provide. May you always be satisfied.” She lifted up her glass, like the Statue of Liberty’s torch. “To the groom!”

Everyone lifted theirs, either because they knew they should or because they were copying others. There were enough people who knew this that it wasn’t too hard. 

“To the bride!”

 _To the bride!_ Everyone turned towards someone else.

“From your sister!”

 _Angelica!_ Everyone looked at her.

“May you always…”

 _Always!_ Everyone clinked glasses. 

“Be satisfied!”

Everyone drank.

***

The Washingtons gave very short toasts. George’s was just, “People embellish my elegance and eloquence. I've paid Alexander to write speeches for me. I gave him the day off for this one. It shows. But I love you, son, even if saying that makes you cringe." Philip and Catherine Senior also gave short toasts. 

Then there was an awkward clearing of a throat, and another man got to his feet. “Hello, everyone. I...well. If you don’t know me, my name is Thomas Stevens. After much discussion with the affected parties, I wish to share both my greatest shame and one of my greatest joys.”

Jim could see John put an arm around Ned’s waist and Ned and Alexander link arms with each other, on the other side. Most people were looking at Mr. Stevens. Including Mrs. Stevens, who thankfully looked supportive rather than upset.

“I work for Social Services in D.C.’s most underserved neighborhoods. Many years ago, I met a woman who had family from that area. I came to remember this when looking through case files that had been placed on my desk.”

A murmur as many people figured out where this was going.

“My shame is that when I realized I was looking at pictures and documents of a biological son I didn’t know I’d fathered, I told no one. My marriage, I thought to myself, I might endanger my marriage. My wife, very rightly, has since criticized me for that decision.” Mr. Stevens picked up his glass, but didn’t raise it yet. “My joy, though, is being able to persuade George Washington to take that boy in. Where I knew he’d have a good home. Where he’d be close enough for me to keep an eye on. And I was blessed further when this boy, through no intervention on my part, became best friends with my son Eduardo. I got to see both my sons grow up together. Brave, clever sons with good hearts. But it was selfish and one-sided of me, getting these blessings without taking responsibility.”

Mr. Stevens now raised his glass. “A toast to Alexander Hamilton, who has forgiven me my neglect and cowardice. Who has given me permission to say, in front of you all, while he is indisputably George and Martha’s son by their years of caring for him and doing all the hard parts that truly make for parenthood, and he is Raquel’s son by her giving him life and building him a strong enough foundation - and by giving him another brother, Jim, who has been so important in his life, even when circumstances parted them…”

“Are you okay?” Aaron whispered to Jim.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Jim whispered back. Aaron gave him a tissue anyway.

“And he is James Hamilton Senior’s son, because that man gave him a name, and I know there was love between them, and that though he abandoned his family it still matters to Alexander. Therefore it matters, period. But for all these, he is my son, too. Thank you, my wife, my sons, and my new daughter, for allowing - encouraging - me to say so.” He turned and clinked his glass with George Washington.

There were those who toasted and those who just sort of gaped, but Jim toasted with Maria. 

Maria said, “Bit soap opera, but I like the ending anyway. Cheaters have done wrong, but it's complicated, and owning up to your mistakes is a big deal.” Theodosia and Aaron nodded slowly.

***

Pierre came to sit next to Chev partway through the meal. Jim found himself drawn to conversation with Chev about how his job worked, though Chev always managed to wiggle out of talking about h...sh...theirs.

Alexander came to check on Jim. “You being nice to Jim, Chev?”

Chev gasped dramatically. “Why are you picking on me?”

“Because you’re the most psychologically horrifying person I know, when you want to be.” Alexander grinned. Chev grinned back. 

“Everyone’s being very nice,” Maria said, blowing him a teasing kiss.

"How've you been, Theodosia?" Alexander asked, leaning so far forward that he had to brace himself on the table.

Theodosia patted his hand. "If there's a reason I've started to thrive when so few survive, I'm willing to wait for it. Congratulations, both of you."

Aaron looked at his wife, then back again at the man of the hour. “Congrats, Alexander. I’d tell you to smile more, but it looks like you have that covered.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I redid all my historical notes for these folks this would be very long, so I'm just doing the one I think I've only explained once. I highly recommended looking up anyone here you want to know more about, though, because they're super cool. So:
> 
> \- Dr. David Ramsay - whose name was the most fun to racebend once I found out that Ramzi David is a plausible Lebanese combination - didn't have any visual impairment that I know of. That's just me pursuing this series' theme of living with disability, specifically when I include some physical ones as a compare/contrast for the mental health issues and also for diversity. However, David Ramsay did die from being attacked by a man he'd been called in to evaluate to see if he was sane enough to stand trial for attempted murder. Among his dying words were to be lenient with the man. His third wife, maiden name Martha Laurens, had died some years earlier.
> 
> Also, further disclaimer that there is evidence both for and against the Thomas Stevens thing, and I'm just going with what makes an interesting plot.
> 
> **EDIT**
> 
> In case you don't read comments, this is an answer I gave to one below, before realizing that it was worth telling everyone:
> 
> "...Way back in Tomorrow and Tomorrow, and in the non-series canon-era fic You Wished for a War, I discussed historical Stevens' opposition to bloodletting as a medical treatment and advocacy of willow bark as a form of pain reliever. And that willow bark was much later developed into aspirin, which meant that in that respect he was a visionary. Also that he used it when treating Alexander and Eliza Hamilton during the yellow fever outbreak of 1793. I have never previously mentioned that the outbreak was the same one that killed Dolley Madison's first husband."


	9. Isaac and Ishmael

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is referring to the sons of Abraham who were half-brothers and are now associated with different faiths.

Alexander left for the cake cutting, but personally brought Jim a corner piece of cake that had a sugar rosette on it. “Your favorite cut, I believe.”

Jim lightly punched him on the shoulder. “You’re showing me up, Alejo.”

“Consider it belated thanks for that time you punched a boy in the face for calling me names and Dad gave you tips on technique when the teachers told him.” Alexander placed the cake on the table and hugged him.

“You were six.”

“Very belated.”

Aaron smiled. “You two probably have some great stories you could tell together.”

Maria craned her neck. “Looks like Eliza’s gearing up for bouquet tossing.”

“So she is,” Alexander said. “Do you want to take part?”

“I’m deliberately sitting at the same table as the lawyer who helped me get rid of my ex-husband and the friend who let me cry on his shoulder over the matter in order to ward all this off. Thank you for asking.”

Jim must have looked confused, because Theodosia and Aaron helpfully waved at him. Alexander gave them a thumbs-up and went back to being the man of the hour.

“I was Maid of Honor once,” Chev said, who started fiddling with their wedding ring like it itched. Jim knew not to ask, but he really wanted to know why Chev disliked the ring while clearly adoring their husband. Who was currently leaning against them and eating a strawberry compote of some kind. Chev stopped fiddling with the ring and went back to petting Pierre’s hair. “Mind you, she would have supported me calling myself Person of Honor or something, but the groom was the open-minded product of a close-minded clan.”

“So you’re a girl when you have to be?” Jim asked.

Pierre grabbed onto Chev’s arm, but Chev just squeezed his hand. Their voice was pleasant but also colder. “Why, Mr. Hamilton, I didn’t think you were the type to want to talk about genitalia in such a public and formal setting.”

“...Got it.”

Chev took a deep breath and said in a less frigid voice, “I pretend to be one when I need to. Or sometimes when I feel like it. There are days.”

“Ah.”

“As there are other days in the other direction. Though I hate those times I’ve had to pretend to be a straight cis guy. Can you imagine?” This was with more humor and addressed more towards Pierre.

Pierre relaxed and licked his spoon. “Horrific. I’ve never tried.”

“Would you like some cake, honey?” Aaron asked Theodosia. She smiled and mimed the size of slice desired with her hands, and he went to edge around the bouquet-tossing zone.

It looked like Eliza had prearranged a fling towards Missy, which caused some amicable protests of favoritism. Aaron came back with cake for his wife, himself, and also Maria. “I’ve been presumptuous about Pierre and his personal relationships before, so I’m not assuming I know what’s best for you this time,” Aaron said to the spouses.

Pierre made his hands into the shape of a heart and giggled like mad. “You were doing your job! I’m sorry I put you in that position. Friedrich will probably apologize again if you want him to.” Chev asked him something in French, and when Pierre answered, Chev started laughing as well.

“He already has,” Aaron said, taking a seat beside Theodosia again.

“The main part that’s funny is Friedrich trying to pass off his behavior as part of his Tourette’s Syndrome, not anything you did,” Maria said. “Also, thank you, Aaron.”

“Oh, we’re being rude!” Pierre turned to Jim. “You see, Aaron caught Friedrich and I being more familiar than was allowed in that setting. Friedrich claimed it was a tic that compelled him to stick his hands down my pants. Aaron was under the incorrect but understandable impression that Friedrich was taking advantage of my vulnerable youth.”

“Was telling Jim that much detail necessary?” Theodosia asked. Aaron was consumed with quiet, mildly embarrassed but mostly genuine laughter.

“What great cake this is,” Jim said, his face burning.

Maria started on her cake. “You’ve walked into a lot of complex romantic entanglements. It’s not your fault if your head’s a little…”

“Asplodey,” Pierre suggested.

“That’s not a word, Mr. Linguist. And you’re not crawling into my lap as long as I’m wearing this outfit,” Chev said. “Do you know how much ironing it took?”

“You took longer than you needed to, but I’m not complaining about the results.”

Speaking of romantic entanglements: “Alexander talked about having a crush on a Maria,” Jim said slowly.

“Alexander and I used to flirt a bit, but Eliza said she wasn’t comfortable with him pursuing anything further with someone she worked with. Even if we weren’t in the same ward anymore. And she thought it’d be bad for both me and him to combine his internal issues with my still recovering from a terrible marriage. Without her saying that and him listening, I think all three of us might have been badly hurt.”

“I’m glad it didn’t go that way.” Jim narrowed his eyes. “Are you related to the Schuylers?”

“No? Why?”

“You look a little like Peggy.”

“Huh. Do you think so, Aaron?”

Aaron shrugged.

“Statistically speaking, everyone has roughly six unrelated doppelgangers living at the same time as themselves,” Pierre said.

“Even me?” Chev asked. If Jim closed their eyes, he wouldn’t be able to label it either tenor or alto. He wondered if that was natural or took practice.

“Nobody is, was, or will be like you,” Pierre said, burrowing his face in Chev’s shoulder. His consonants had become somewhat sloppy.

“How much wine have you had, sweet P?”

“One glass.”

“How big?”

“ _Lagom._ ”

“That’s Swedish.”

“Ah, but you knew it!”

“‘Sufficient’ doesn’t answer my question.’”

“I might have also had a cocktail? Oh, and I toasted, but c’mon...the doctor said it’s over 72 hours, not over just a few hours, to worry about...I don’t _like_ being a lightweight, Chevy.”

“So you’re dedicated to proving how much you are one every time there’s a special occasion?” Chev propped Pierre up in his own chair, kissed his cheek, and nudged a glass of water at him.

Pierre nudged a plate of different cheeses at Chev. “If you’re going to be a spoilsport, dazzle us. Which one’s the Roquefort?”

“Trick question. There isn’t any. Decent-looking Emmental, though. Can I have it?”

_Let’s commence to coordinate our sights, set this all to rights,_ said [the first song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cm6xtkX_Dvs) as Eliza led Alexander to the center of the floor, lights slightly dimming except right above them.

Jim got up. “I promised my wife I’d get a video of the bride and groom dancing.”

_***_

This time, Patsy Jefferson had either read the lyrics or been specially instructed. Probably the second.

_Condescend to calm this riot in your mind, find yourself in time._

It was just a slow dance, nothing special in that regard, but Jim could remember Alexander looking like that once. Just once.

_If I am waiting, should I be waiting? If I am wanting, should I be wanting?_

When Alejo was five, or maybe six, he sat in a kayak for the first time.

_Document the world inside his skin…_

At first he’d been nervous about whether such a little boat could hold both his and Mama’s weight without them both falling into the water. Jim and Dad had been in the other boat, so he could see his brother clearly.

_Now commence to kick each brick apart, to center on your heart._

Then they’d gotten moving, and he’d looked down at the river and stuck his hand in it. Let the water play over his fingers. Then he’d taken his hand out and looked up at the sky.

_If I am waiting, should I be waiting? If I am wanting, should I be wanting? If I am hopeful, should I be hopeful?_

Alejo had always been either been a loud child, a fascinated child, or just about to pass out from sleep or emotion. The fascination was always in books, though, or stories, or a tricky problem. In that moment Alejo went completely silent, only the slightest of smiles on his slack mouth and parted lips. He was in peaceful wonder.

_All around me is the sunlight, is it shadow, is the quiet, is the work, is the beating heart, is the ocean, is the boy..._

When Alexander pressed his forehead against Eliza’s, still dancing, that was what he looked like.

_It’s you, my sweet love, oh my love…_

Eliza looked the same.

_And the light, bright light, bright bright light, it’s all around me, all around me..._

___***_ _ _

___“___ Jim, are you staring at your phone with a grim face because you forgot to press record?” It was John, holding up his own phone.

“Maybe,” Jim said.

“I got it. I can email it to you.”

“Thank you.”

The soft applause ended, Alexander and Eliza kissed again, and they separated.

Over the sound system, Patsy Jefferson said, “All right, now there’s going to be five more slow-dancy songs, and then a mix of slowy-dancy, ballroom-y, and fast improvisational-y. You can come up to the D.J. and make requests, but nothing is guaranteed. No food or flash photography on the dance floor.”

Alexander made his way to John and Jim with his face at least sixty percent grin. “Hey, so, Eliza’s gone to the back room to feed Philtrum and see if he’s up for a little meet and greet with the general public, not just his succession of babysitters. Want to dance, John?”

“Maybe not this one, QP. There’s a lot of people here who’ve just found out that my date is your half-brother, you know? Let’s not overload them. But I’ll be around when we get to the less couple-y songs, to copy Patsy’s way of talking. My wedding, sure.”

“Makes sense.” Alexander took John’s hand but didn’t lead him anywhere.

“That was a lovely song,” James said.

“Eliza and I are both big fans of the Decemberists, especially their album ‘The Crane Wife’, but very few of their songs are wedding-appropriate. John was actually the one who worked with Patsy to choose the first song of the wedding, so kudos to him for telling her to play ‘A Beginning Song’.” Alexander turned his head. “Oh my god, Antoinette made it after all, and she brought Louis…”

“Go talk to them, see if you can dance with her without making him feel insecure,” John said, giving him a push.

Alexander looked dizzy. “She loves does dancing, and he hates it…”

“As I said. She could probably dance with Lafayette too. Go, go.” With Alexander gone, John pointed at a woman with a fancy updo hairstyle and more frills and silky shine to her dress than anyone else here. “Antoinette’s from Vienna, often goes by the Poker Princess. She’s a professional poker player, and she said she’d try to get out of her commitment to a big tournament that clashed with the wedding. She wasn’t sure she could. Her partner Louis is Paris-based, but several of us here met him when he was learning to handle psychological after-effects of a car accident that nearly severed his head but just gave him whiplash and brain injuries instead. It looks like he’s gone to talk to Doctor Wash about something. They of course know Lafayette.”

“Of course. Who here, to your knowledge, hasn’t met or at least heard a lot about Lafayette?”

John stood there thinking so long that Jim took pity on him and didn’t make him answer. Ned wordlessly invited his fiance to join him. Jim returned to his table to watch and listen.

***

Alexander’s dance with Antoinette went off without any trouble. Antoinette’s dance with Lafayette resulted in him tripping on...her foot? His own feet? She laughed in a nice way. Regardless, he slinked off so downhearted that Pierre and Adrienne went to sit with him and bolster his ego. Olympe brought Henriette to him to comfort Papa. Jim knew Henriette was mostly staying in a quieter room in the building, but there had been a few people at the reception such as Thom Pinckney who really wanted to meet her and had little time in which to do it. Besides, Pierre said that Adrienne didn’t like being far from her daughter for long, when she could avoid it.

Meanwhile, Chev had a quiet conversation with Antoinette that relaxed her guilty posture, and they made sure she got some cake.

When the music got to the first fast song, Pierre turned into Chev and asked, “Did you request this?”

“It’s the closest thing our relationship comes to having a song, so yes. Shall we?”

Pierre kissed them and pair ran off to dance. Jim hadn’t heard “Raise Your Glass” in years, but he had some idea of why Chev and Pierre liked it. 

_So raise your glass if you are wrong in all the right ways, all my underdogs, we will never be, never be anything but loud and nitty gritty dirty little freaks._

***

Chev and Pierre gave Jim an idea. He got up and went to non-Custis Patsy’s table. “Can you do ‘True Believers’ by The Bouncing Souls?”

She looked it up online and scrolled through the lyrics. “Sure. It’s been uploaded to YouTube.”

“Can I also borrow the microphone to make an announcement?” Patsy handed him the microphone. He waited until the current song was over. “I’d like to interrupt for a brief announcement.”

Lafayette gently waved his baby daughter’s hand. She was snug in his notably muscular arms for such a lean, runner’s-build man. “Speech! Speech!”

Jim smiled and waved back. “I’m the previously known half-brother of the groom, for context. James Hamilton Junior. Alexander said I didn’t have to give a speech.”

“SPEEEEEEECH!” John yelled. He sounded tipsier than earlier.

Ned wasn’t a yelling type, but Jim could see him give a thumbs-up. Alexander was sitting up very straight, listening attentively. Eliza was radiant in Jim’s general direction.

“I just want to say that this milestone in Alexander’s life has been my opportunity to see a glimpse of the life he’s come to live since circumstances parted us. I There was some initial nervousness about catching up, and about being different people now, especially since I’ve gained beliefs that Alexander doesn’t share. I’m not great with words like he is. He’s been good with words since he was three, and I’ve never come close to catching up. However, I’ve requested a song to maybe reflect the impression I’ve gotten of his life now, and my impression of all of you here, and a belief that we can and do share. Miss Jefferson, hit it.”

He joined the dance floor, and his brother - no, his siblings - for this. It was only right.

_I've met some people along the way,_  
_Some of them split, some of them stay,_  
_Some of them walk, some walk on by,_  
_I've got a few friends I'll love till I die_  
_From all of these people I try to learn,_  
_Some of them shine, some of them burn,_  
_Some of them rise, some of them fall,_  
_For good or bad I've known them all_

_We live our life in our own way,_  
_Never really listened to what they say,_  
_The kind of faith that doesn't fade away_  
_We are the true believers_  
_We are the true believers_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love that AO3 allows linking like this. 
> 
> It basically historically accurate for Pierre to be enthusiastic about strawberry jam. Du Ponceau wrote about a dish of "preserved strawberries" he ate as a guest of Mount Vernon...fifty plus years after he ate it, and spends multiple lines on the impression it made on him. Though to be fair, he'd been in a soldier's camp for awhile before accompanying von Steuben to the estate, so he might not have had anything sweet in awhile. 
> 
>  Lin Manuel Miranda loves "The Crane Wife" and listened it a lot as a palate cleanser while he was devoting himself to _Hamilton_ and a ridiculous schedule. 
> 
> [Anyone who's read "and hold your tongue" before this, one of the dangling plot threads has been resolved, hooray. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9142921/chapters/20772706)
> 
>  
> 
> Hah, I finally got to do my own version of the famous Lafayette and Queen Marie Antoinette dancing incident!


	10. James and James

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story wanted an epilogue. It took until today for me to know what it would be. Contains mild spoilers for "All These Years"
> 
> Oh, last chapter I forgot to revisit the information that Chev having been a wedding Maid of Honor is a reference to the Chevalier d'Eon having been undercover as Empress Elizabeth of Russia's attendant of the same title. D'Eon's superiors thought this was a case of a man disguised as a woman. Years later, d'Eon claimed this was a case of a DFAB woman disguised as a man disguised as a woman. In fact this was a case of a DMAB non-cisgender, quite possibly intersex person who for a time presented as a woman in order to do some badass spying.

“...So that’s how it went,” Jim concluded. He had another bite of his dessert, the ice cream part of which was starting to melt. The brownie was no longer steaming, either.

Jamie Laurens had only been asking the occasional question, not doing nearly as much talking, but he hadn’t even finished his linguine yet. Spellbound. Also, John had said that his youngest brother suffered a serious head injury at a young age that now meant he spaced out and lost a few seconds of what was going on from time to time. That meant some repetition was needed when he listened to a long narrative.

Jamie was a mini-male-Martha Laurens, mostly, with echoes of a late Latina mother they’d referenced. Mixed-race solidarity, woo. However, he had a South Carolina accent like what John had only exhibited when his giddy tipsiness tipped to moderate drunkenness (and everyone had cut him off) and that Missy only had a faint flavor of. He suspected they’d both worked to shed theirs. Alexander never lapsed into his old accent, but Pierre said it was likely because he'd switched before he'd hit the vague preteen cutoff point in most humans, which was why Pierre himself never sounded French by accident.

Jamie was also an undergrad student in a hoodie proclaiming his college swim team, and wearing what looked like a friendship bracelet around one wrist. The springtime sun had given him a fresh smattering of freckles like John’s. He’d draped his backpack, covered in snarky pinback buttons like “Tautology Is Cool Because It’s Cool”, over the back of his chair. His rolling suitcase sat upright between him and the wall. 

“Thank you for telling me all that,” Jamie said. “As well as, you know, taking the day off and driving to this airport just to meet me during my three-hour layover.”

“As if you didn’t specifically make travel plans that would give you this layover on the way to D.C.”

“You caught me, I admit it. Though it honestly is cheaper than a direct flight.” Jamie ate more of his lunch, which must have gone cold by now.

Jim smiled. “I wish I could give you a present to deliver to John, but he and Ned are pretty intense about only wanting charitable donations in their name. I tossed a few bucks at the charity which partly funds Ned’s stomach cancer research. I figure it might help keep a roof over their heads, indirectly.” One of the other charities was a suicide prevention and mental health support foundation. It had taken Jim a long time to choose between them.

“You sharing your experience is gonna help me handle the reception. I didn’t see John for ten years, and since then I’ve only met a few of his new folks, and even though his reception’s gonna be much smaller than Alexander and Eliza's it’ll still be a lot. And our brother Henry Junior will only know his siblings, Ned, and an old friend of Missy’s who’s like another sister to us. He’s also more conservative than me and his relationship with John is more fragile, still healing.” Only now did Jamie pause for breath. Swimmer’s lungs. “What you’ve told me makes me feel better about his potential experience.”

“One James to another, his family brought out a different side of me. It wasn’t bad. That, in a nutshell, is all I can predict.”

Jamie laughed and raised a glass. “That’s plenty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for joining me on yet another excursion, especially if you commented. <3


End file.
